


Running wild but not free

by Fnorpan



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Adventure, Bosmer Dragonborn, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Running Away, Werewolf, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-06-07 23:44:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6830263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fnorpan/pseuds/Fnorpan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a bosmer spellsword in Skyrim is hard. Add being the Dragonborn and you have the recipe for potential disaster. All Des wanted was a family, but when one is acting like a general prick it's hard on everyone.</p><p>:::This story is about my bosmer, spellsword. Bronze skin, forest-green eyes, white long dread's and rather bulky for a mer.:::</p><p> "I could feel the hackles of my wolf standing on edge and I couldn’t maintain my cool composure when I was already furious beyond reason. He always seemed to rub me in all the wrong ways and we were always at each other throats. Alpha-battles, Kodlak had called them, between the two most strong-willed members who also happened to possess the strongest wolfs. Of course it didn’t exactly help that I was known as a bosmer spellsword and Vilkas had an abnormal hate and distrust for magic, even for a Nord."</p><p>I am using UESP, thuum, and lingojam as referense for any language not english. Kudo's for those and cred to the people pouring their soul into that.</p><p> </p><p>Pic? Sure here: http://fnorpan.deviantart.com/art/Desthia-Bosmer-Dovakiin-611155395</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yea yea yea. I know. Old game and this has all been done before. BUT I love the game, and recently lapsed back into that particular game-world. This also re-ignited my drive to finish one of two old fic's that never made it to the spotlight.
> 
>  
> 
> Note: I played a VERY long time as this char and ended up above lvl 100. I think I killed every respawnable thing atleast thrice or more, must have done the repeatable quest a gazillion times and not to mention talked, lockpicked, blacksmithed and enchanted the hell out of the game. ^_^ And therefor she had alot strenght and perks. Also I used mods for tweaking the graphic's and visuals, nothing else though.

I sincerely had no intensions of letting Vilkas or the rest of the Companions have their savage revenge. No matter what my wolf was thrashing and howling about in my head. I really had been dead set on steering them away from that path since I knew Kodlak, as well as myself, didn’t agree with it. Killing only led to more killing, and someone, somewhere was somehow going to have to bend i order for the fighting stop.

Well, to my defense, at least that conviction lasted until I set foot in the Silver Hands stronghold.

Just like that time I went hunting with Aela and Skjor – that time when Skjor was brutally murdered by those retched, pathetic excuses of human beings who called themselves the Silver Hand - the foul stench of death and madness stung my nostrils. My wolf churned restlessly inside, growling and snarling at the senseless savagery of the self-proclaimed protectors of Skyrim. And every step further into the hold seemed to only pour more oil on our already violently burning fury. It’s one thing to kill for your convictions. No matter how misguided, at least that was understandable. But this. This was just senseless sadism and gore.

Horrified at the sights that unfolded in front on me I eventually gave into my rage and my wolf howled in bloodthirsty agreement. _None_ of these inhuman bastards claiming to serve the side of good, would _ever_ set foot in the daylight again. _I_ , or rather _we_ , would make sure of that.

\--

I had been hard-pressed to refuse Aela when she wanted me to attack the Silver Hand the first time. But new as I was, I trusted her. Even when she was being more than a little cryptic, I trusted her. And I still trusted her when she outright told me what we were doing wasn’t particularly within the usual parameters for what constituted as right.

Who was I to refuse the hand that almost literary fed me?

After Skjor died in one of our raids on the Silver Hand camps, Kodlak found us out and called me to him. Even as he chastised me he let me know that I was only partly to blame and that even in my erring, I had carried myself with as much honor as possible. Probably since I rarely let my wolf conduct my attacks and to Kodlak - who felt lycanthropy was a curse - that had a deeper and much appreciated meaning. I felt relieved that everything was now in the open. And I was thrilled to find out I could quite possibly help the Companions to rid themselves of the beast-blood. Those who wished it at least

In my hurry to make up for my previous blunder, I didn’t stay to rest up. I only stopped by Breezehome to restock and make sure Lucia was ok. Of course I spoiled her rotten as well, much to Lydia – my housecarl’s dismay. Lucia was over the moon with the new dress I brought her and barely paid any attension as I ushered her to bed. Me, Lydia and my friend Marcurio - a talented mercenary wizard I had met and somewhat befriended in Riften – ate a small dinner before I offering Marcurio the master bedroom. I hardly slept anyway after becoming a werewolf so there was no use in me hogging such a comfortable bed while my friend slept on the floor.

Me and Marcurio left bright and early the following morning. Our horses were well tended and fed at the Whiterun stables making them more agreeable then they had been for weeks.

The trip to the Glenmoril Coven was a breeze. A few bandits, another one of those pesky assassins of the Thalmor sent to eliminate me and some wildlife with bad survival instincts was all the resistance we met on our travels. The witches’ coven though, was beyond nasty. Marcurio complained violently under his breath and my nose scrounged up in disgust at the pungent smell of old, moldy, twisted death. Not to mention the cave was nothing if not creepy to sneak around in.

After killing the first witch, I made a choice. Nothing that looked and smelt this twisted and had taproots and dead, skewered wildlife half-rotting in every corner, was ever going to benefit the greater good. Not to mention they had betrayed the Companions – my family - by not revealing just what they were getting themselves into with the beastblood.

Accepting the gift of lycanthropy was literary selling one’s soul to Hircine, Daedric Prince of Hunting, who would collect upon death. Entering Sovngard would not be possible for anyone who accepted the gift of the beast. They would be forced into Hircine’s hunting grounds, kicking and screaming if they refused and forced to hunt for the rest of eternity beside the Prince, whether they wished it or not.

Needless to say I and Marcurio killed every last witch in that cave and gathered their heads as per Kodlak’s instructions. What he needed the heads for was beyond me and I was not privy to that information but orders were orders. We preserved the heads in an ice-spell which not only kept the heads from rotting, but also kept them from smelling. Granted we had to renew the spell every so often but it was well worth it just to escape that horrid odor.

Getting back to Whiterun again was uneventful. No assassins, hardly any bandits or mad necromancers and the wildlife seemed to all have a firm grasp on their survival-instinct. Marcurio – having been recently dumped by his muttonhead boyfriend - complained almost nonstop about being bored, being sore, tired, hungry and anything else he could come up with. So on the odd occasion a bandit-crew did showed up, I let him work off some of his agitation on them. The wizards was also a bit grumpy about the fact that I had him help me carry not only the witches’ heads but also some pelts and other goodies I had found in their cave and on our journey. _“I am an apprentice wizard! Not a packmule!”_ he exclaimed on more than one occasion, causing me to chuckle at his aversion to some heavy lifting. We had horses so the real reason why he was being pissy was not lost on me.

\--

A distinct chill of restless apprehension crawled around my spine as we approached Whiterun and I had a really bad feeling in my gut. Even my wolf was snarling in distress and it only got worse the closer we got to the town.

Parking our horses at the Whiterun Stables we gathered our loot and started hauling it up to Breezehome. Just past the city-gates I overheard the guards talking about a big attack in the city and who would be so stupid to make enemies out of the Companions. Not much more registered with me as my blood ran cold and I instinctively knew what had occurred. The Silver Hand had been sniffing around for weeks, if not longer. Looking for a way to get to the Circle.

Tossing all my load at Marcurio I shouted over my shoulder for him to get to Breezehome as I took off sprinting the short distance to Jorrvaskr. I contemplated using my thu’um to increase my speed but I didn’t want to give myself away.

Nords was wary of most magic, but being Dragonborn was considered an honor and the fact that I, a bosmer, was Dragonborn seemed to irk them to no end. Thus I kept it as much as possible to myself. Not even the Companions knew, save for Kodlak who I had come to trust with my life as well as my life’s story.

Skidding around the corner of the latticework by the re-awakened Gildergreen I was met by my agitated shield-siblings as well as half the guards in Whiterun. No one met my questioned gaze but as far as I could see from the dead bodies strewn around the stair to Jorrvaskr, and hear from the people I past, it was as I suspected. The Silver Hand had gathered their wits and dared an attack. Hurrying up the stairs I stormed into Jorrvaskr’s, both my swords at the ready but meeting only the grief-stricken faces of my shield-siblings. To my utter distress, Kodlak lay splayed not far from the entrance, pale, lifeless and unmoving.

He had been impaled several times over judging by his wounds and if the broken, scattered armor was anything to go by, he must have been pressed so far by the Silver Hands attack that he had shapeshifted to protect our home. In doing so he had exposed himself to the whelps who now had not only grief but probably a million questions swimming around their adrenaline-high brains.

Farkas was a silent, distraught mess where he sat next to Kodlak’s unmoving body. Njada, uncharacteristically soft, tried to talk to him but nothing around him seemed to reach his ear. I could hear different timbres of sobbing echoing through the otherwise eerie quiet meadhall and I had to force my gaze away from Kodlak’s pale features too look at Vilkas who was the only one addressing me, or even seeing me at this point.

He was consumed with that cold, calculating rage of his as he chewed me out for my absence during the attack. It didn’t seem to matter that it was Kodlak himself that had set me on this quest and he didn’t care to let me explain what it had been about. Instead he ordered me to follow him to retrieve the stolen fragments of Wuuthrad in a full-blown quest of revenge that would eliminate the bulk of the Silver Hand in their own strong hold. And as Vilkas stormed out of Jorrvaskr with a still shellshocked me in tow, every shield-sibling we past seemed to be snarling for blood and urging vengeance.

\--

“I swear by the Gods Vilkas, if you get in my line of fire again, I’ll shoot the damn thing right through you on purpose!!” I growled in response to Vilkas agitation that I once again had accidentally hurt him. Vilkas snarled at me with a vicious scowl, baring his teeth and I reciprocated in a heartbeat. I could feel the hackles of my wolf standing on edge and I couldn’t maintain my cool composure when I was already furious beyond reason. He always seemed to rub me in all the wrong ways and we were always at each other throats. Alpha-battles, Kodlak had called them, between the two most strong-willed members who also happened to possess the strongest wolfs. Of course it didn’t exactly help that I was known as a bosmer spellsword and Vilkas had an abnormal hate and distrust for magic, even for a Nord.

But even if I was known as a spellsword, my passion really lay in archery and one-handed swords. Magic and bows was common for a bosmer like myself and I was quite good with a magic, by any standard other than bosmer – or any mer for that matter. To other wood elves I seemed a youngling, still tripping over my feet with my teachings. But at least I could hold pride among my own as an archer. My preference for heavy armor and dual-wielding short-swords however, was very uncharacteristic for a bosmer. Especially a female bosmer and of high social status. Or former bosmer of high social status as the case would now be.

I left that life behind me when my family refused to see reason about an arranged marriage. They claimed it was my duty to marry that pompous jack-ass of an altmer. To further the relations between our family and the Aldmeri Dominion they said. My father didn’t care that the man they wanted me to marry was a stuck-up, sadistic narcissist and my mother followed my father’s words to the letter, as did my sister.

My family was one of very, very few bosmer families to be regarded in high standards among the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion. And to them, that respect was more precious than the will and wellbeing of their headstrong and quirky daughter.

So I left. Bought a one way ticket to the Empire after selling off some family valuables and then sold my services to anyone who needed it to get coin to continue my journey. Unfortunately the Stormcloaks turned out to be the last ones I should have sold it to since it nearly killed me. The Empire didn’t care that all I was hired to do was guard and deliver a message to someone I didn’t even know. It had turned out to be Ulfric Stormcloak and I became guilty by association, regardless of the reason for me fleetingly finding myself in his camp.

It was both a blessing and a curse that the dragon attacked Helgen just as I was about to be put to the block. It was a blessing since it obviously saved my hide but on the flipside it was a curse since it was the start of all the craziness now webbing itself into my life. Everyone wanted something from the Dragonborn and I could only thank my lucky star that not many people knew the Dragonborn’s, or rather my face. I always wore a helmet to keep the Nords from their petty comments. If I heard _“Let me guess, someone stole your sweetroll?”_ in a patronizing voice, one more time, I might just shout them across Skyrim for their racism. And my habit of wearing veiling armor also luckily kept my secret safe.

The memory of Helgen, all the screaming, the smells of burning flesh and wood. It still haunted me in my dreams but at least it lead me on my way to Whiterun where I had found my first real refuge in five years. The Companions accepted me even though I was a spellsword and an elf. First they gave me friends, a place to call home and later even a close-knitted family. A home and a family that had now been defiled by narrow-minded savages with nothing but self-righteous massacre on their mind. Savages who was going to pay for their indiscretion.

Unfortunately for me, I was used to making sneak-attacks with magic and bow before taking on the brunt of the retaliation with my swords and heavy armor. I only ever used light armor when doing jobs for the Thieves Guild. But with Vilkas in almost full berserker mode, it was damn near impossible to get close to the enemies without him lopping my head off. He seemed to prefer barging ahead like a blind troll - swinging his greatsword every which way and that had me more than a little hampered in my close range combat, leaving me only magic and bows to work with.

Vilkas preferences in combination with my inexperience as a rear-end damager also meant that he, in his battle-rage, had developed a very unhealthy habit of stepping into my line of fire. And so far he had sustained – much to his dismay – four shock burns, two frostburns, one fire burn and four or so arrow-wounds. All which were caused by him getting in my way.

This time he had, once again, accidentally walked into my lighting and got himself shocked unconscious. He was anything but happy when he came too and found me using my healing on him, but at this point all his potions were all used up. So there we were staring at each other in an unspoken challenge, snarling and growling in pent up frustration and anger as I healed him with my – according to him – loathsome magic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter already? Yea, damn it's easy when all you pretty much need to do is read, correct and do the final editing. There's not much more to say. Angst, violence and intrigues among the Companions.
> 
> .
> 
> Enjoy!

I don’t know how long we took to sweep the entirety of the Silver Hands hideout, tripping over each other at every other bend. But eventually we found those infernal fragments of Wuuthrad. Not to mention that we literary wiped the floor with the Silver Hand bastards. None was left alive, that we knew of anyway, and it was mainly because I - shortly after accidentally zapping Vilkas unconscious - let go of my rage.

My wolf had been howling at me for a long time already when my anger finally boiled over the point of no return. I had had it with the gruesome scenes of my dismembered and tortured cousins through lycanthropic blood.

“To oblivion with it all!” I snarled as I lunged into my transformation before going on a wild rampage through the stronghold. Vilkas was still holding his wolf at bay, as was his odd custom, but he didn't have all that much trouble keeping up with me. At least not what I could recall, but then again, I don't remember much details. It was mostly a haze of rage, death and dismemberment. But I do remember fleetingly feeling grateful that Vilkas kept his distance as he let me work out my aggressions on our hateful foes. He used his bow instead of his greatsword and only when it was absolutely needed.

For a man convinced that lycanthropy was a curse he took my rampage fairly good. A little grumpier than usual maybe as he collected, almost nonchalantly, what needed to be collected and then left to let me have a run at the place until my wolf was sated.

It took me quite some time to calm myself down from my frenzy and revert back to human form. I sniffed him out felt the change coming and found him just a little ways away from the site of the intentional massacre. He had busied himself with setting up our camp while I hunted. There was a fire, the tent was up, bedrolls splayed and he was out of his armor. He sat in the tent-opening, staring into the fire and munching away on a piece of dried meat as I approached.

His eyes went wide for a moment at the sight of me; tired to the verge of collapse, soaked in blood – I swear my white dreads were now more red than anything else – and I was as naked as the day I was born. The cold had me shivering from head to toe and he only hesitated a moment before springing to his feet to wrap me up in the nearest bedroll. He sat me down closest to the fire, added his own bedroll in addition to mine and almost caringly wiped most of the blood away from my face before trying to drive the chill from my bones by rubbing my arms.

It was almost dark, the fire our only source of light and soon we witnessed the first snowflake fall.

"Looks like I'm gonna be miserable tonight..." I sighed glumly – still shaking like the last leaf before winter. I scowled outside through the slightly parted tent flap - we kept them open to let the warmth from the fire creep inside the tent. I scowled since I knew all too well about the freezing temperatures one could run across in Skyrim and me being an elf left something to be sorely desired in terms of resilience to cold. Despite my beastblood I was still but a twig in comparison to Vilkas - or any other Nord apart from children - not to mention I hardly reached to more than his chest when standing next to the brute.

"Yea. No wonder though, even my sword weighs more than you." Vilkas answered, a small grin hinting in his features as he inspected me top to bottom where I sat pitifully wrapped like a cocoon in the two bedrolls. I rolled my eyes at that comment but didn’t have the strength to do much more.

“I’ll take first watch.” I offered through clattering teeth as I scowled once more at the offending white powder spilling out of those baleful gray clouds and whirling its way down to the ground.

“Won’t be able to sleep anyway in this cold…” I muttered, mostly to myself.

“Uhm... You have my bedroll…” Vilkas reminded with a slightly amused scoff, peering at me from under his lashes where he laid beside me on the bare ground, propped on one elbow. His silvery grey eyes seemed to stand out even more with that warpaint of his. I froze at his words and looked pleadingly over at my shield-brother, a pitiful whine escaping my throat before I could stop myself. Vilkas coughed into his closed fist to hide his laughter and his smirk but I could see it in his eyes. In my freezing state though I had not the mind to snarl at him. I merely huffed in resignation and begrudgingly started wriggling out of the bedrolls.

Two strong hands stopped my squirming, pulling open the outer bedroll to my rising alarm. I eyed him warily and was just about to protest when Vilkas moved his bulky frame into the outer bedroll with a strange ease. He rolled his annoyed eyes at my distress before wrapping his arms - and with them also the ends of the bedroll - around my tiny shivering frame. I tensed up like a bowstring at this unfamiliar behavior but I could feel the heat radiating from him even through his clothes and the layer of my bedroll. It spread pleasantly through my back and started thawing out my frozen limbs. Little by little and I felt myself starting to relax into him, ignoring my inner voice shouting at me not to trust him, and I hummed in appreciation when the clattering of my teeth and my shivering slowly ceased.

At that moment I couldn’t find it in me to protest, no matter my previous experiences with men in general. And my wolf was more than a little sated, thus only offering a huff of annoyance at the contact with Vilkas. I was deadly tired and the warmth was so addictive as opposed to the bone-chilling cold I just experienced.

“Thanks.” I half slurred as the haze of sleep overcame me rapidly.

I heard him grunt in acknowledgement and then stifle a chuckle as I curled up my tiny frame in the bedroll and his chest and promptly fell asleep.

\--

Something was nuzzling around in my hair, tickling the back of my neck and drawing me out of my lovely sleep. I swatted behind me at whatever it was as it moved towards my neck again. A possessive growl and constricting arms around my waist and torso had me shooting awake in an instant. I struggled and snarled right back at the thing of my aggravation but I couldn’t get loose. I was pissed beyond words. Vilkas had no right! And this was why I never went on jobs with men. They always got too grabby. Always!

My snarling and trying to get away from him had Vilkas growling as he bit my neck in an animalistic warning. The bastard was trying to _make me_ submit. He tried to dominate me! To force me into letting him have what he wanted. I fumed with anger, contemplating shifting to surprise him as well as punish him dearly but thought better of it. Shifting back would take too long and I didn’t want to waste my time as a wolf on something as absurd as Vilkas’ misguided need to copulate.

“Let me go!” I barked at the offending oaf who was crushing me against him, still possessively growling while nuzzling around my neck and shoulders, kissing and nibbling as he went. I couldn’t help the shivers that spiked through my body and I could feel his well-sized erection against my behind but it only served to fuel my aggravation.

“Why?” he asked in husky anger as he ground his hips into my rear, biting down roughly on my neck.

“Get. Off. _Now_!” I managed to choke out in warning through clenched teeth as I seethed in my rage at Vilkas outlandish behavior.

When Vilkas didn’t budge I slammed my head back as hard as I could into his - hearing him howl in pain brought a satisfied smile to my face. I sank my teeth into his closest forearm and shoved my elbows back into his stomach with all the strength I could muster in my constricted state. It was thankfully enough to get him to let go and I rolled out of his reach, crouching defensively while my bronze-colored skin prickled from the sudden intense cold. Sneering and growling in anger I readied my defense in anticipation for Vilkas’ next move. He coughed and gasped for air as he sat up. His eyes blinking rapidly as he shook his head sharply. Then he turned to, once again, glare at me with those scornful, silver eyes of his.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” He snarled at me as I straightened out from my crouch. I was so pissed I forgot that I was probably supposed to be bothered by being naked, yet again, in front of this man. The only thing that did bother me at that moment, was the onslaught of the cold. Adrenaline and fury wasn't enough to dull the pain of the chill and in a matter of moments I was shivering again.

“Oh you bet on it loverboy!” I spat as I started to rummage about for my clothes and armor. If he thought I was going to repay his kindness by spreading my legs like a common bar-wench, he had another thing coming. And I would never again be caught dead accepting his help, now knowing the apparent price for such a deed. I was huffing and snorting in frustrated annoyance and the sheer incredulously of the situation, never taking my awareness off of Vilkas while I got dressed. But to my relief he just sneered at me, got up and started to pack up our camp. All the while glaring daggers the size of his greatsword my way.

Not a single word was said the entire walk back to Jorrvaskr and as soon as we got to Whiterun we broke off in different directions.

“Come up to the Skyforge when you’re done.” Vilkas muttered reluctantly over his shoulder as he headed straight - probably meaning to stop at the market to sell off some loot before he continued to Jorrvaskr. I went to the Drunken Huntsman to sell of some gear we’d found, and as usual got stuck in a pointless conversation with the sleazy one of the bosmer brothers who owned the place. Then I went home. I wanted to see if Marcurio had gotten there ok and if he was still there, enjoying the free bed and board. He was probably angry though. Lydia too. I had taken off in a hurry, during a large city-crisis and only now got back, three days later.

I managed to crack the door to Breezehome open by a hole inch before it was wrenched fully open, facing me with a scowling Lydia.

“Thank the eight!” she suddenly said, visably deflating in front of me. “We were beginning to think you died!"

“No I didn’t, I told you she’d be fine!” Marcurio piped up from the table behind her as I made my way inside. He did sound irritated but of course he knew I would be fine. He might be a mercenary but we had been fighting along-side each other for almost half a year now and I considered him a friend. He knew about me being Dragonborn, had even been with me when I killed a few dragons. And he was probably the only one who knew I was a Nightingale – apart from the other two in that lovely threesome - and he knew I was the Guild Master of the Thieves Guild. He also happened to be the only man I could ever take on jobs without worrying about having to look over my shoulder all the time. He preferred men and thus, thankfully, left me alone. Furthermore, he was very skilled with magic and never got in my way. Probably since he fancied using me as a meat-shield.

“We heard what happen in Jorrvaskr. It’s a shame about Kodlak…” Lydia said trailing of and looking away. I put a hand on her shoulder for support, knowing well how fond she was of the Companions, Kodlak specifically. She would probably have joined if it had been an option.

“The culprits have paid in full. That I promise you. And what was stolen is now retrieved.” I said and saw Lydia’s eyes pinch shut as she nodded slightly.

“You ok?” I turned to Marcurio.

“Me?" he replied incredulously.

"Well, now that mentioned it I did get a bit of a cramp in my back hauling all that loot here, all by my lonesome. Oh! And I stubbed my toe…” Marcurio whined in obvious sarcasm that earned him a heated and disapproving look from Lydia. To which he held out a hand as if to stop her from shouting at him.

“But, my dear, I’m not the one who got dragged off to Gods know where by some bestial, hulking Nord, to do only the Eight knows what.” he continued sternly, his usually mischievous eyes shone instead with heated concern. He never did learn to trust most of the Companions. He said it was because of the way some of the members were eyeing me and it had only gotten worse since he found out about the beastblood. It was pretty hard to cover up after that cock-up with Sinding and Hircine in Falkreath. The cursed ring I accepted from Sinding had forced my transformation, in broad daylight and in front of my friend.

Thankfully it happened in the woods and Marcurio, being who he was on top of being a mage, made him somewhat more tolerant and more curious about my condition as opposed to flat out terrified. But, since Marcurio knew I wasn’t a wolf from the start he just kind of put two and two together. The only new factor since before I was a wolf and now, was the initiation into the Circle of the Companions. Or so he said, when prompted to explaining why he knew to ask me if all the circle-members of the Companions carried the blood.

After Falkreath, Marcurio swallowed every piece of information about werewolves he could find and as his knowledge grew, as did his suspicion towards some members of the Circle and Companions. He was short with Aela, ignored Vilkas and he absolutely loathed Njada, probably for being the crude bitch she was. Moreover he seemed to want to zap Torvar to Oblivion for some reason he would not share.

I didn’t particularly like the guy, Torvar always smelt too much like mead and I thought him a little too sloppy, but I figured he was harmless. Aela was a mystery, cold one moment, passionate the next but I didn’t dislike her. More like kept my distance. I agreed with my friend on Njada though. She was a bitch on more levels than one and often threw comments at me having the other members deal with her out of pure shame. I learned to ignore her though, I figured I would be jealous too in her shoes.

Then there was Vilkas of course. He was a whole new definition of trouble and both Marcurio and I knew it.

“I’m fine.” I muttered bitterly. My mood instantly souring at the unwelcome reminder of this morning’s happenings with Vilkas. My green eyes flickered back to Marcurio and then over to Lydia. Both now looking intently at me, arms crossed and I could tell they knew something was off. I really needed to learn to choose my words better.

“It’s nothing I couldn’t handle. Just a slight, _misunderstanding_.” I said, trying to sound flippant about it. None of my friends was buying it though.

“Anyway, I need to get back to Jorrvaskr. See if they need any help with…” I sighed, running a hand through my white dreaded hair - compliments of a Khajiit wanderer who saw me cursing about getting my hair in my face with every swing of my swords.

\--

On my way to Jorrvaskr I did my usual pitstop at the shrine of Talos. At first I started going there to piss of the priest spouting his overdramatic crap and eyeing me viciously due to me being an elf. Then I found I enjoyed making people confused about the fact that an elf could go against the laws of the Aldmeri Dominion. It sort of became my own inside joke. And lastly I went because, well, I was Dragonborn after all. Who of the Gods would better understand my hardships and needs?

After a short prayer I felt the familiar rush as Talos’ blessing cleansed me of any lingering diseases and left me rejuvenated. I thanked him and started up the stairs to Jorrvaskr, halting a moment on the top. I wasn’t really sure I wanted to have to deal with whatever shit-storm that certainly awaited me when I continued up the steps to the Skyforge. But I needed to talk to Aela about this morning, I needed to see my family and I needed to grief.

Sighing deeply I made my way up the steps. I was moving almost silently since I had changed out of my nordic steel armor and wore my lighter Guild Master armor instead. Eorlund saw me first since he was closest by the stairs, then I felt the gaze of several of my shield-siblings as I stepped out of the shadows and into the light of the forge. As I took my place at the funeral, in between Aela and Farkas, I could feel a certain pair of eyes boring holes into the left side of my skull. I kept my face neutral as I flicked my eyes towards the source and sure enough, in my peripheral view I could see Vilkas glaring.

I sighed and locked my gaze to the burning embers of the forge. This wasn’t the time for fighting.

Eorlund started the funeral with some well-placed words and more ceremonial words were said in short succession among my shield-siblings before Aela set the pyre in the middle of the forge on fire. There was a moment of silence as everyone focused on the crackling of burning wood. And as the fire reached the wrapped body of the late Harbinger Aela bid the Circle to meet in the Underforge, too grief the last together she said. I knew better by that glint she had in her eyes - the same dangerous glint that sparkled in her eyes when she wanted revenge for Skjor’s death. I nodded knowingly to her, leaning back on one hip with my arms crossed in front of me. I let my eyes rest again on the still blazing remains of the man that had played the role of both father and mentor to many of my shield-siblings and my nose wrinkled at the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh.

I didn’t notice the man until he was standing right next to me, too absorbed in my own thoughts. Eorlund asking me about the fragments of Wuuthrad drew me out of my shell and I praised my fortune for having the good sense of taking them with me when I left Breezehome. I turned them over to the smith without a word. I knew the Companions more or less revered the legend of Ysgramor, and Wuuthrad was his axe, but to me it was only a reminder of everything gone wrong. Then he asked me to retrieve the last piece, a piece that was supposedly in Kodlak’s chambers since he always had kept it near him.

I must have looked confused because he hurried to explain that he didn’t think he was the best person to go through Kodlak’s things. It felt like he was cryptically trying to tell me something but I was too spent to play the guessing game.

“Oh, but I am?” I asked wearily, feeling the glare of a certain someone intensify. Eorlund looked sternly at me and I yielded, too tired to really offer much of a fight at this point.

“It would be my pleasure.” I sighed, rubbing my eyes before turning on my heels to search out Jorrvaskr’s sleeping quarters, and all the while silently cursing the unwanted attension Eorlund seemed to be giving me. What did he know that no one else did?

I found the piece easy enough once I entered the old man’s room. Not really hard for someone with training from the thieves guild, but I also found something else. Kodlak’s journal. Was this what Eorlund had meant with his cryptic nonsense about him not being the right person to go through Kodlak’s belongings? Was I supposed to read it? I sat down on the old man’s bed, contemplating the pros and cons before opening the journal with slightly shaking hands.

It started off with information I already knew, the legend of Ysgramor and that of Terrfyg who brought the Circle into Hircine’s grace, if one could call servitude to a Daedra grace.

It went on telling of a dream. A dream that made Kodlak realize that maybe he had a choice regarding his afterlife and that he would not be alone in his fight. He wrote about the Circle and their reaction to the knowledge about a potential cure and it seemed not much had changed since the entry was written. Aela still loved what she called her gift, Vilkas still called it a curse and Farkas was unfortunately caught in the middle, not really happy with either of them. Skjor had shared Aela’s opinion and was now most certainly enjoying the hunting grounds of Hircine in his afterlife. The difference in opinions had somewhat splintered the Circle according to Kodlak and unfortunately nothing had changed.

The next entry hit me hard. I was sorely tempted to smash my own head into a wall for being so mind-bogglingly stupid. Vilkas was grumpy and irritated because he saw the beast-blood as a curse and was suffering for his decision to withhold his wolf. Of course he would be pissed that I had waltzed in and happily accepted what he wanted to rid the Companions of. Farkas on the other hand seemed to have little to no trouble with his wolf and neither did I or Aela to be honest, but it was so painfully obvious now why Vilkas had resented me like the plague after accepting the blood and running my first hunt.

I loved the perks that came with being a werewolf. But then again I had always known what I got myself into. And it wasn’t like I had planned to give up my soul to a Daedra without a fight. I knew there was always a loophole. The challenge lay in finding it. And I also knew there would probably be a pissing-match about who would get my soul among the Daedric Princes once I died, since I had dabbled with a lot of them. But Vilkas didn’t know that, none of the other’s knew of my previous involvement with the Daedric Princes. Maybe he wouldn’t hate me so much if he had known. Or he would have hated me even more. Because to be honest, he had ample reasons to resent me anyway, being the spellsword I was and an elf to boot.

I continued reading and found myself chilled to the bone at the next paragraph. Kodlak had dreamed of me. The stranger in his dream from earlier entries, the one helping him to fight the beastblood, was me. My face fell as I read his true feelings about magic and I wondered if the only reason he let me join at all was due to his dreams. It seemed even the leader of the Companions shared in the deep mistrust of magic, deeming it an unnecessary trickery. I felt betrayed. My heartbeat quickened in reaction to my rising anger and my hand clenched hard enough around the pages of the journal to crumple them. Internally I was raging and felt like breaking everything in sight as I simultaneously cursed the day I sat foot in Jorrvaskr.

Then I sighed, deflated and reeled in my feelings. I knew the others didn’t really hold it against me for being a spellsword. They had all grown and learned to appreciate my talents. Well, all except Vilkas. But the words in the journal still hurt.

My heart warmed slightly again as I read on. Kodlak’s wrote fondly about me and Aela even though we had tried to go behind his back with our relentless attacks on the Silver Hand. But that warm fuzzy feeling in my chest was short-lived as my breath hitched when reading the last paragraph. I must have re-read it a thousand times over and then re-read the very last sentence about a half a dozen times more before my brain finally somewhat accepted the meaning of the words.

_“Desthia shows valor, though even in this more underhanded time. We have not had cause to speak much and that is something I deeply regret. I have high hopes for her destiny, as I realize that her appearance in my dream may indeed mark her as the Harbinger to succeed me.”_

There I had to pause. Or I wanted to, felt the need to but couldn’t. I skimmed through the last page where Kodlak wrote of the other companions and why he thought they were not fit to lead the companions in the way he wished it to be lead. I was shellshocked and almost threw the journal back inside the bedside table as if it was on fire. Those were his final words before the incident with the Silver Hand and now I regretted even more that I did not stay a few more days. If I hadn’t taken on the quest to Glenmoril in such a hurry Kodlak wouldn’t be gone. If I had just followed normal procedure, this burden of knowledge would not be on my shoulders.

I fought the urge to flee... retch… or… spontaneously combust.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter to cover Kodlak's funeral and the conversation in the underforge. Angst, drama and misunderstanings.
> 
> Enjoy!

I don’t know how long I sat on Kodlak's bed, wallowing in my guilt and horror. But a sudden rustle in the hallway jolted me awake from my paralyzed mind. This wouldn’t do I determined as I shook my head clear. I had to get out, to get some air.

I closed the drawer of the bedside table that I had thrown the journal in and made sure I had the last piece of Wuuthrad safely in my pocket before making my way out of Kodlak’s quarters. Reaching the doorway I spun to take one last look at the empty room before closing the door. I smiled to myself. If only Vex could see me now, she would sport a heart attack. Almost all my fellow thieves would be pretty much horrified that I didn’t go through every inch of this place in search for goodies. Luckily there was at least Karliah, who would readily approve since she was one for upholding honor even outside the guild. And to be fair, there was no honor in stealing from friends and family, deceased or not.

I trudged my way back up to Eorlund who was tending to the pyre in the Skyforge wearing his sadness as a heavy cloak. He took the offered fragment as if it was made of glass, carefully putting it with the others next to the forge before turning to thank me. I just nodded absentmindedly at his praise before enduring his silent but knowing appraisal. Then he smiled softly, turned and reminded me over his shoulder that my shield-siblings were probably waiting for me in the Underforge. I couldn’t help but cringe at that.

“You don’t wish to go?” He asked, spinning halfway to face me again while raising an eyebrow.

“I… no… It’s just…” I sighed in frustration. I didn’t want to ruin Vilkas’ reputation by telling everyone what he’d done but it also made me not want to be near him, even more than usual. His glaring was enough to cope with without having to constantly guard my tongue to prevent myself from saying something in anger that I would probably regret later. And people of course had to ask question about that kind of apprehension. Questions to which I had no satisfying answer.

“Don’t let Vilkas get to you lass. He has a temper on him that one, but he’s a good lad at heart. He's got brains to match his brawns but heart was given mostly to his brother.” Eorlund said warmly. The old man had a weird way of deciphering people’s minds and feelings – just like Kodlak - and I felt myself smile tiredly.

“I’ll try.” I muttered and gave the smith a more genuine smile before trudging off towards the Underforge, and what felt like my impending doom.

Vilkas and Aela was at each other’s throats when I walked in, Farkas’ eyes going from one to the other looking miserable. Vilkas was, as far as I could tell, upset that Kodlak didn’t get his wish of being rid of the beastblood when he died. And Aela didn’t want to acknowledge that the beastblood was seen as a curse to some. I felt for Farkas. Being stuck in the middle was rarely pleasant, even worse when the ones fighting were family.

He met my glance, offered up a small, sad smile and nodded his 'hello' as I walked in. I went over to the huge dejected nord to put my hand absentmindedly on his big arm for support and was surprised enough to almost yelp when his huge arms went around my waist to pull me into an embrace. My back was pushed up against his chest and he seemed to be hiding his misery in my hair. The big brute virtually radiated sadness so I just let him have his comfort while I drew nonsense patterns on his huge forearms.

The display seemed to agitate Vilkas though. He scowled our way before fighting Aela even harder. The deadlocked debate must have gone on for hours when the argument suddenly took a turn for the worse. Aela sneered violently at Vilkas, claiming that matters was supposed to be closed now since Kodlak was dead and had been avenged. This of course had Vilkas growling back at her, fuming and pacing like a caged animal as he glared from Aela to me and Farkas and back again. It was just a matter of time before this turned violent. We all felt it. And that's when Farkas moved for the first time in what felt like ages. His arms fell to his sides as he  came up beside me.

“Kodlak didn’t care for vengeance…” Farkas stated in a sad but stern voice that had everyone know he meant business. He pinned both his twin and Aela in turn with those sad silver eyes of his that seemed to be pleading as well as demanding his siblings to stop this madness. Vilkas snorted a moment before visually deflated, sinking in on himself as he sighed.

“No, Farkas, he didn’t. And that’s not what this is about.” Vilkas said dejectedly while meeting his twins gaze.

“We should be honoring Kodlak, no matter our own thoughts on the blood.” he continued as he turned his now stern gaze back to Aela. She crossed her arms, looking stubborn and irritated. For a moment I thought she was going to argue her point again but thankfully she decided to yield.

“You’re right. It’s what he wanted, and he deserved to have it.” She muttered reluctantly.

Vilkas jumped right into an explanation about an old legend of the tomb of Ysgramor and how it was supposedly the key to ridding oneself of the beastblood. Aela countered with the fact that gaining access to the tomb required the axe of Ysgramor, Wuuthrad, and how it was currently in pieces and of no use. Thankfully they didn’t get far in their renewed argument before Eorlund walked in to interrupt them.

“Just because something _is,_ doesn’t mean it _must be_...” Eorlund said matter-of-factly looking gravely from one circle-member to the next.

“The blade is a weapon. A tool. Tools are meant to be broken... And repaired...” The smith finished, swinging an axe of his shoulder and holding out Wuuthrad for everyone to see. Apparently it had been re-forged during the night in the very flames of our beloved Harbinger. Everyone around me stood gawking in silent almost reverie. Vilkas looked like he didn’t really believe his eyes. Farkas had a look of hope and relief while Aela wore a look of conflicting feelings. The smith turned to me and said that thanks to me he had all the pieces and thus, the honor of carrying Wuuthrad into battle should be mine.

I was stunned to momentary silence. Was he serious?

I could feel Vilkas’ mood shift in a second as his eyes locked onto me, glaring as if I was the darkness of Oblivion personified. I looked pleadingly over at Farkas, then Aela – both only turning their gazes away from me, leaving me with a peculiar feeling of being excluded. I opened my mouth to object. I hadn't done this alone like Eorlund made it sound, everyone had pitched in and many pieces had been gathered even before my arrival in the Companions. But the smith stopped me before I could even form my first syllable. His a hand landed fatherly on my arm as he turned to address the rest of the circle. He told them they should prepare to journey to the tomb of Ysgramor and before long the cave shook with the battle-cry _“For Kodlak!”_ and everyone shuffled out without so much as a glance my way. Well everyone except for me.

I stood there, Wuuthrad in hand, looking at the hated weapon in stunned silence. Why Eorlund done that? Did they all hate me now? For unwillingly stealing the honor from right under their noses even though I had only played an insignificant part of the retrieval? Well they had all turned from me when I sought their help. And wasn't it hurt I had seen in my shield-siblings eyes as they did so?

The hurt spread through my system like wildfire.

Maybe I shouldn't be surprised. I was an elf after all, and a spellsword. No matter what I shared with the circle-members I should really never forget that fact. The Nords as a whole, were not exactly known for their opened minds when it came to other races, or magic. Sure the Companions had welcomed both Ria and Athis, an imperial and a dunmer. But none of them had advanced into the Circle. And sure, Ria was new to this life and still wet behind the ears but Athis was a seasoned fighter with a mind almost as sharp as his blades and he had been with the Companions for a long time.

I remembered Kodlak’s journal, what it said about me, about magic and a splinter of betrayal and doubt wedged itself deep into my heart. Everyone wanted something from the Dragonborn... Kodlak had known... I really might have been accepted into the Circle on orders from Kodlak and not because they saw me as worthy.

Betrayed. Used. Unwanted.

I sank to the floor as my head spun with emotions. There was a loud clatter when I dropped Wuuthrad next to me before I began curling in on myself. I hugged my own torso in a vain attempt to hold myself together by the skin of my teeth. The embrace growing harder and more desperate with each passing moment as I tried my damndest not to let my emotions force me into transformation. But my wolf was thrashing and clawing madly inside my head, begging for release to act out all that I – no, that _we_ felt. It felt the loss and betrayal of the pack as keenly as I - not to mention the loss of our pack-leader - and it was now acting out in pain, threatening to tear us both to pieces.

Somewhere along the line our beings must have started too merged, for I heard myself keening just moments before an earthshattering howl of sorrow ripped its way out of my throat. A howl that couldn’t have been possible if I hadn’t at least been half way into my transformation.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows the quest to and through Ysgramor's tomb. Des takes down a dragon, Vilkas offense is revealed and Des snaps. Freedom at last?
> 
> Enjoy!

I kept telling myself that this was the last mission as I dragged my unwilling self towards my destination. One last deed to free our Harbinger whose death I was partly responsible for and then I could finally disappear.

I had let it take about a week to get to Winterhold and now I was holed up in their inn – The Frozen Heart - for the night. A few more drinks than necessary and a warm meal was my only companions before I intended to climb into my relatively warm rented bed.

My wolf and I had grown closer during our journey towards Ysgramor’s tomb and my eyes now held a constant yellow hue that people found unnerving. On top of that, my senses were always heightened, to the point where it was sometimes painful. I could hear the slight off-key notes the bard hit in his singing, the miniscule grumblings of the barkeep about the steadily decreasing stream of customers and I could smell the wariness oozing off of the people around me. Maybe because they could only see my eyes, maybe because I ignored everyone, but my money was on the fact that they had seen me take down a dragon – more or less by myself.

I had heard the roars and felt the power that make up a dragon when I closed in on Winterhold. The closer I got the stronger I felt its presence and it, of course, felt mine. It was swooping down to perch on a roof in midst of town when I came around the last bend of the winding road and I hit it almost immediately with a previously nocked arrow. That got its attension. And as soon as the thing reeled on me I staggered it by shouting _FUS RO DAH_ and followed up with a steady stream of arrows to keep it focused on me instead of the panicking guards and towns-people running around in circles.

The huge arrogant beast couldn't ignore my offered challenge and followed me as I retreated out of the town - to keep it from razing the entire settlement to rubble. Soon enough the dragon had so many holes in its wings it couldn't stay airborne and the moment the dragon landed I sprinted forwards using _WULD_ , to almost instantly hit its flank. It roared in both agony and anger when my twin shortswords found their target, sinking deeply into the soft flesh under the hard scales. After that I didn't think much as I instead fell into that steady almost meditative flow of battle that is common among seasoned warriors. Advance, slash, twirl, block and get away. Throw in a couple of thu'um's - since I was Dragonborn after all - and repeat as necessary.

More or less the whole town witnessed me drawing the huge beast away from the town before proceeding to hack away at it until it moved no more. And that also meant that of course they saw me absorb the dragon’s soul. Therefore, to my bitter annoyance, I now couldn't show my face, nor give away the fact that I was a Companion. At least not if I wanted to keep my secret. Stupid dragon.

I sighed as I downed the last mead and headed to my room.

Before crawling under the worn furs of my rented bed, I switched my nordic steel armor for my modified Guild Master attire. I had stripped it of the obvious thief-markers and added some cloth to hide my lower face. A necessary precaution since I had come to learn that people tried to peek in any way they possibly could. Some even going so far in their curiosity as to barge into my room, hoping to catch me unaware and unprepared, just so they could find out who I, the legendary Dragonborn, was underneath my armor. Thus I always slept in attire that would hide my features from prying eyes. And to be honest, light armor was better than no armor if someone decided to attack during those brief hours of sleep I managed to get during the nights.

The only place I didn't invoked my own rule of never leaving myself exposed was Jorrvaskr. But there I was constantly surrounded by the best warriors in all of Whiterun - Werewolf's to boost - and no one there knew I was the Dragonborn. Well, except for the recently deceased Harbinger. To keep any of my shield-siblings from accidentally ending up on the receiving end of a dragon’s thu'um, I usually went alone on missions. Or I brought Marcurio, who not only worked explicitly well with me but also already knew my secret.

Though sleeping without armor might change now after the Silver Hand showed us just how vulnerable we actually were, even in Jorrvaskr. And that is if I even stayed at all.

Morning came all too soon after the restless tossing and turning that constituted for sleep when one shared one's body with an insatiable beast. Werewolf’s never had the luxury of sleeping deeply and we were always restless. Once I awoke fully, I washed briefly in the wash-basin before donning my trusted steel armor as well as a thick cloak to shield me against the cold. My breakfast ended up being pathetically meager for a wolf. Not due to lack of food but more along the lines of lack of hunger. I just couldn’t get anything but water and a few spoonfuls of soup down my throat. So to be on the safe side I bought some dried meat and a couple of apples to bring with me on my journey down the mountain.

\--

Finally reaching the tomb after getting across the freezing waters of the northern most parts of Skyrim I was met by an equally frosty Vilkas. He was obviously irritated that I had taken so long to get there and proceeded to chew me out.

"This is neither the time nor the place!" Aela barked at him mid-rant and Vilkas begrudgingly stopped his onslaught.

Instead he proceeded to tell me I should be _careful_. That the spirits of the ancient Companions would be _testing_ me to see if I was _worthy_ and that I should be ready for _honorable_ battles. His words of warning bore a double-edged meaning I didn’t miss. A meaning I couldn’t have missed even if I had been both blind, deaf and stupid. In response to the none too subtle threat, my wolf raised its hackles at him and a low vibration almost inaudible to the human ear clawed its way out from somewhere deep in my chest. My wolf and I had accepted our fate as outcasts and as such I wouldn’t be caught dead even suffering such an upfront challenge from another Werewolf, least of all Vilkas.

Farkas looked at us in confusion as did Aela, both no doubt sensing the unusual amount of hostility as the challenge hung thick in the air. The huntress glared at Vilkas, waving him off and Farkas pitch in to help shut him up. The huntress approached me seemingly relaxed but I could see the caution in her eyes as she reached for me. It was probably to put a soothing touch on my arm or even to show support, but she stopped dead in her tracks when she got close enough to clearly see my face.

“Shor’s bones! Your eyes... and..." she exclaimed, her voice trailing off into little more than a whisper where she stood, frozen in her with her arm still partially extended.

The cloth protecting my lower face had been ripped in the storm assaulting the coast on my trek to the tomb and without it my more animalistic features was laid bare for anyone to see. Had I been in wolf-form they would have seen my hackles standing attention, they would have clearly seen the peeled back muzzle and bared teeth as well as ears tucked backwards. But as it were, they could only sense it. Vilkas didn't relent. He snorted patronizingly after noting the changes in me and that of course caused me to snarl right back in bristling anger. Aela - who was closest to me - backed up a couple of steps. Both her and Farkas wore almost identical looks of pain and worry while shaking their heads as if to clear them. But still Vilkas didn't relent as he looked down on me, glaring with silver eyes full of resentment - maybe even disgust. Thankfully though, he stayed quiet.

“Let’s uhm… Let’s just get this over with… so we can go home?” Farkas broke the silence cautiously, not looking anywhere near me which only served to deepen my anger. Aela nodded, eyeing the floor while rubbing her forehead and Vilkas glowered at a wall, refusing to acknowledge anyone. I just wanted this to be over. Drawing a huge breath to try and calm down I stalked around my former shield-siblings to return Wuuthrad to Ysgramor, or the statue of him at least. That was supposed to open the way into the tomb and to my great relief, it did.

Aela and Farkas followed me into the tomb but Vilkas stayed behind. Somewhere in the backwaters of my brain I knew I should react to that, but I couldn't find the will to even be curious about it. I was only thankful for his absence as well as for the distance Aela and Farkas held to myself.

We battled through room after room filled with ancient spirits of Companions as a well-oiled machine. Then we hit the first sign of spiders - the big frostbite ones - and I had to stop in an alcove where I had just mangled two of the disgusting creatures. I felt my shield-brother's hesitation and looking over my shoulder I saw Aela talking soothingly to Farkas who was almost white as a sheet with beads of cold sweat hanging on his forehead. I had almost forgotten his extreme fear of spiders. A simple thing to forget since his entire being radiated raw power and almost seemed to silently demand everyone's respect. Though I always thought it a bit sad that so many wrote him off as a dumb, hard-ass brute.

I knew Farkas could fight through these spider's if he had to but, well, he wasn't desperately needed, probably, and I just needed to get this over with. Turning without a word  I continued my onslaught through the spider-infested part of the tomb. Aela, I noted, followed soon after but held her distance and thankfully didn't engage in conversation as I uncharacteristically barged ahead mangling anything in my path.

The way I was coping with my grief left me without the proper mindset for subterfuge and it didn't leave me anywhere near enough patience for either bows or magic. So swords it was.

After getting through the spiders, we were back to challenging the ghosts of our forebearers and by the time we finally found the inner sanctum of the tomb we were both panting slightly, tired to the bone. Aela gasped in awe at the sight of the hall and lowered her bow as her gaze landed upon a very familiar figure. There beside the Flame of Harbingers - a rather large pedestal with bowl of blue fire on top - stood none other than Kodlak Whitemane himself. Or his spirit at least.

Kodlak looked a bit distraught at my appearance as I pulled off my helmet to greet my former Harbinger with a curt nod but he greeted us warmly none the less. I felt his unspoken questions but didn't feel like answering and thankfully he let them remain unspoken. Instead he told us the reason he and many other former Harbinger’s were staying in the tomb. Specifically by the fire. It was a means to hide them from Hircine until they could be released from their curse. We however, could only see Kodlak because we had known only him as Harbinger. The old man added in a joking manner that if Vignar had been there, he would probably had been able to greet at least half a dozen of the spirits.

Tired as I was and desperate for this to be over, I steered the conversation towards the cure. Kodlak took the hint and instructed me to throw one of the witches’ heads into the fire to release their magic for him. We didn't really know what to expect but within moments of the witch's head making contact with the blue flames, we were faced with what could only be described as a large spirit-wolf. It attacked viciously, snarling in resentment and I almost felt sorry for the creature. No one wanted to perish into nothing, but we had to choose and we chose our Harbinger without hesitation. Me, out of obligation more than anything at the moment.

Kodlak seemed to be rendered stunned throughout the process and was unable to pitch in, but the beast-spirit was easily downed between my vicious hacking and slashing and Aela's excellent marksmanship skill.

After sheathing my blades I turned my attention to stuffing the rest of the heads into a nook for safekeeping - until someone else wanted to be cured. Then I conjured up enough willpower and concentration to seal the nook with simple frostmagic. The cold in these parts would most likely keep the ice-spell intact for eons beyond counting and we would probably have use for the remaining heads long before the spell would even remotely thaw.

Once I was satisfied with my handiwork I turned to leave, but a pressure on my shoulder stopped me. I snarled as I spun to face the unwelcome intruder in my personal space and saw the shock in Aela’s face as she backed away, averting her eyes. She motioned to Kodlak and I shifted my gaze to meet his. He looked bothered, maybe even surprised as he beckoned for me to come and I begrudgingly complied.

“I’ve slain the beast-spirit...“ I said tiredly to the old man, not holding his gaze. He interrupted me with his thorough thanks and let me know he would try to rescue the rest of the Harbingers with the help of our forefathers from Sovngard. I listened with as much patience as I could muster but couldn't help falling into a slight pace while he spoke. He always was one to preach and today was no different.

Then came the words I had dreaded. The anticipated words that was the very reason I tried to flee the moment our task was done. I didn't want to hear them, I didn't want Aela to hear them, but our former Harbinger spoke them none the less.

“Return to Jorrvaskr. Triumph in your victory. And lead the Companions to further glory.” he looked at me with a huge proud grin but all I felt was something audibly crack inside. I started to ripple with the force of my growl and I could hear a surprised yelp coming from Aela as she seemed to back away even further. Kodlak features fell and the pride gave way to confusion, bewilderment even. Then his face hardened as he quirked an eyebrow and asked me what in Oblivion was wrong.

“I cannot lead a pack that does not want me! Find someone else!” I snarled, scowling darkly at Kodlak while feeling myself slip further into my beast. We were of one mind on so much right now and it showed even more in my features. My teeth sharpened further, my hair became a bit ragged and wild, my nails grew to razor-sharp claws and my eyes took on an even deeper yellow hue. Kodlak frowned and looked to Aela with an obvious question in his gaze.

“Wha.. what are you talking about?” Aela stuttered cautiously, seemingly anxious to upset me further. My answering growl had her break out into a cold sweat as her eyes darted around the room, looking almost panic-stricken. It was a bizarre sight to see the usually headstrong, cocky and powerful huntress in such a state, my former mentor and pack-sister, and somewhere in the back of my mind I could not help but wonder why.

“Calm yourself lass.” Kodlak spoke sternly and my eyes snapped back to glare at him. I vaguely heard Aela let out a huff, seemingly relieved. But my main focus now, was Kodlak. Had he been flesh and blood I might just have lunged him at this point. There was nothing I wanted more in that moment, then to get out of there and run. I needed to hunt, to mourn and Kodlak stood in the way of that.

“Why?” I demanded with a snarl, pacing agitatedly while piercing the apparition of my former leader with my heated gaze.

“Why should I be calm when the family I grew to love shuns me?” I continued in between angry huffs and snorts.

“Let Vilkas do it, since he thinks he is entitled to anything without regard for others opinions or integrity.” I finished, snorting again as I spun to leave.

“Lass, I think you must have gotten something very wrong. Vilkas is troubled, that I admit. But he is a good man at heart.” Kodlak said in his most reasonable voice and I spun right back to face him again. I could feel my wolf trying to ripple into existence, pushing and straining against my control as my anger burned so hot I could literary feel it sizzling in my veins.

“So, I just imagined Vilkas unspoken accusations when I didn’t spread my legs for him after we got the fragments back from the Silver Hand?” I spat in a voice trembling with restrain and I heard Aela draw a shocked breath, as did Kodlak. Any other day I would probably have regretted my words, but now I just wanted to get away and I wouldn't spare anyone's feelings if it meant getting what I wanted. What I needed.

“I just imagined my shield-siblings accusingly turning from me when Eorlund lay all the praise on me for bringing him Wuuthrad’s pieces. As if I wanted that praise... Didn’t even let me speak..." I continued, spitting out the words as if they were poison. The sting of betrayal awakened anew and the piercing sadness of abandonment flared to life yet again. My wolf was howling so loud my ears rang.

"They won't even look at me!" I finished with roaring growl, glowering so hard at Kodlak one might think he'd spontaneously combust.

“No! Vilkas… Vilkas wouldn’t… We wouldn't...” Aela was looking desperately at Kodlak.

I decided I had had enough and almost sprinted out of the room, slowing down to catch my breath only when I felt a safe distance between me and the unwanted responsibility. On my way back to the entrance I almost ran into Farkas who had dared to venture forth now that the spiders were dead. To see the huge hulking Nord yelp and jump backwards several feet at the sight of me must have been very comical. I was hardly half his size even with armor, and I only reached as far as his chest. But there he was jumping away from me as if I was one of those wretched spiders he hated with such a passion. I, however, was not in the mood for fun and only growled in annoyance before shoving past him.

Now, if I could only avoid the twins other half - the lesser one I snorted to myself - I would maybe actually get out of here with my sanity somewhat intact.

But I had no such luck.

As I got to the entrance to the tomb I silently cursed to myself. Vilkas stood alert, arms folded over his chest and eyed me with those scornful silver orbs of his. I contemplated exercising patience and try ignoring the man until I got outside. But I had been as tense as a bowstring the entire quest and it only took a cocked eyebrow to overturn the scale. I felt myself snap, my control waning as my wolf took over and I let go.

Everything turned into a blur as I let my wolf have its will, reclining into the back of my mind to lick my wounds. And when I came to my senses again I found myself running full speed, bouncing from floe to floe upon freezing waters until I reached what was unmistakably the northern shores of Winterhold. There I had to pause to catch my breath and as I did so my sorrow crashed over me mercilessly. Memories of resent events flickered through my mind at a blinding speed, leaving me unable to stop the keening whines that in mere moments turned into a bloodcurdling howl of anguish.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aela, Farkas and Vilkas getting back to Whiterun. Fights, revelations and Vilkas has an epiphany.

“Vilkas!” Aela shouted angrily, shoving past Farkas in a hurry.

Farkas looked momentarily dazed as he followed the huntress retreat towards the entrance with his eyes. She was fuming, muttering and snorting as she went but nothing intelligible. When she disappeared into the next narrow corridor he lurched awake and started following. Still confused, but now mostly worried and with a growing knot of dread building in the pit of his stomach

“Vilkas you bastard! Where are you! By Ysmir’s beard I’ll wring your neck if you don’t answer me this second!” Aela howled as she came around the bend to room next to the entrance of Ysgramor’s tomb.

“What happened? Why are you angry? And where's Des?” Farkas demanded as he caught up with the huntress. Aela didn’t answer him, only scoffed and snorted in frustrated annoyance as she searched the room by the entrance. Vilkas’ scent was leading outside and she followed it, with a confused Farkas in a tow.

“ _VILKAS!_ You inbred mongrel! Where in Oblivion are you!!!” Aela growled as she shoved opened the doors, finding Vilkas sitting just outside holding his side. The scent of blood, emanating from his side, hit both his shield-siblings at the same time but only one bent down to help him.

“What did you _do?!_ ” the huntress hissed, looming over the injured twin who scowled indignantly in confusion while his brother fussed and tried to tend to his wounds.

“What _!? I_ did nothing! Our esteemed sister has gone feral, transformed and attacked before she ran off like her tail was on fire.” he answered angrily, narrowing his eyes at the huntress. Aela ignored his outburst.

“After the attack on Driftshade. _What. did. you._ _do?!_ ” Aela was boiling with anger at the facts that had been revealed in the inner sanctum, and in front of Kodlak no less. It was shameful and the huntress was distraught that she hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her pack-sister why they all reacted the way they did before Des bolted.

She and Farkas hadn't known what had happened at Driftshade. They thought the situation in the Underforge was only yet another pissing-match between Des and Vilkas and they were trying to avoid getting drawn into it. Especially since it was such poor timing with the grief and all. And after what happened in the Underforge, Des radiated so much alpha-pheromones telling everyone to fuck off, that it was hard even to look at her. Aela made a mental-note to research how a wolf could produce such strong hormones.

“What did _I_ do?” Vilkas looked at Aela like she was unhinged.

“I spent the night keeping the elf from freezing to death after she let her wolf rampage through the stronghold and the thanks I got was a head-butt, a severe bite on my forearm and two sharp elbows to the gut.” he continued accusingly and looked bewildered as Aela started laughing bitterly at him.

Farkas raised an eyebrow at the display, wondering if they had all just gone mad at some point after Kodlak’s demise.

“You don’t remember do you?” the huntress said with a sneer, crossing her arms over her chest while leaning back on one hip as she bore her accusing gaze into Vilkas.

“Remember what?” Vilkas exclaimed in frustration, wincing at the pain of the movement.

“Your neglected wolf tried to take her by force you mongrel!” Aela shouted at him.

Farkas dropped what he was doing, sucked in a sharp breath of disbelief and looked horrified at his brother who deflated and turned several shades paler.

“Wha… no!… I wouldn’t… it couldn’t…” Vilkas stumbled over his words not able to get out a coherent sentence.

“ _This_ is what happens when you deny your beast for too long! You idiot! She is to be our Harbinger according to Kodlak but she refused and ran because she thinks we excluded her!! Because of _you_!” Aela continued her angry rampage, resisting the urge to mangle her blood-brother.

Farkas scrambled to his feet and had just started trying to find a scent-trails when the sound of their shield-sister’s howl of soulwrenching despair, echoing across the waters.

“We need to find her!” Farkas keened sadly looking at his siblings in obvious distress.

\--

Farkas hadn't spoken a word to his brother since they left Ysgramor's tomb and both Aela and Vilkas had noticed he slept less than even Vilkas did. He seemed constantly restless or even antsy resulting in Aela taking him hunting twice in the week they took to get back to Whiterun, which was a lot even by Aela's standards.

Vilkas tried to talk to his brother on several occasions but was usually met with the cold shoulder. Getting ignored didn’t deter him though and he kept trying until his brother glared at him with such deep resentment it broke his heart. Farkas was never one to hold a grudge or even point fingers if he could avoid it. He was always the "live and let live" kind of man and rather forgot and forgave rather than pushing for vengeance and punishment. But this time Farkas was different and Vilkas dreaded he had let his pride put him in a situation he couldn’t get out of.

He had known of his brother’s attraction to the elf, and granted he was a little jealous but he hadn’t thought much more about it. The elf never reciprocated and Vilkas had gathered it was only a one-sided temporary thing. But now when he had given it some thought he saw things he never noticed before. Like how Des never bothered with any man, or woman for that matter. Going so far as to always keep a distance, never giving more than a handshake or a friendly pat on the back. She was near always polite but often came bristling out of places like the Drunken Huntsman or Belethor’s store where Vilkas knew the men was insufferable flirts.

The more Vilkas thought about it the more he realized that the embrace that had irked him in the Underforge, was in fact something else entirely. He had been furious that she led his brother on when she wasn’t interested. But in the new light of things, Farkas was the only man or woman to ever get anywhere near the elf. At least with all his bodyparts still intact and unharmed.

Des was never shy or even remotely modest and if need called enough for it Des could allow people close, like she had allowed him close that night after Driftshade. But she would pummel you to near death if you didn’t respect her boundaries, he’d both experienced it and seen her knock out men – and women - twice her size in the Bannered Mare for the seemingly harmless thing of grabbing her arm after she politely refused a flirt. Never Farkas though.

He let his mind sift through the times he had witnessed things that he at the time deemed nothing.

The time when Farkas and Des came into the meadhall after Des’ mission of proving, both tired, bloodied and dirty but his brother had slung his arm around her shoulders and hugged her with a proud smile when he announced she’d passed with flying colors.

The time when he’d found them in the yard early one morning. Their weapons were strewn around them, both sported bruises and scratches and were still panting while resting back to back after what seemed to have been a particularly brutal training-round.

There was also the time after Skjor died. Des had been sitting in front of the fire-pit in the middle of the night, drinking and probably feeling guilty. Vilkas had been just moments away from walking over to tell her to go to bed when he witnessed his brother unceremoniously plunking himself behind her, handing her another beer before pulling her in to rest her back against his front.

There was a lot of such things Vilkas realized, as they made their way back to Whiterun. Seemingly innocent little events but for a person like Des, they must mattered more than any number of lays he had had in his lifetime.

Vilkas heart sank, what had he done?

\--  
  
Aela, Farkas and Vilkas got back to Jorrvaskr alone, without their Harbinger and sister and as soon as the trio set foot in Jorrvaskr they were surrounded by the demanding faces of the whelps. Farkas growled slightly and stalked off to his room, Vilkas stood rooted to the spot looking uncomfortable and Aela sighed before taking it upon herself to tell them what they needed to know. She refrained from telling them about the incident at Driftshade and rephrased the reason for Des' disappearance. The whelps certainly didn't need to know about that. Nor did they need to know how dangerously close Vilkas had come to losing his precious control.

By Ysmir, she _would_ force him to either hunt or march him right back to that cave to get him cured in a matter of days. There would be no choice given and Aela was dead certain Farkas would help this time.

As the whelps scattered around the meadhall after being dismissed, Aela could hear speculations and questions being thrown around. The young ones seemed to have forgotten the fact about the Circle-members being werewolf's and that as such they had some perks. Like very good hearing. The huntress sighed as she sifted through the buzz of gossip that immediately swirled around the lower ranks of the Companions _._ Was Des coming back? What made her leave? Had there been a lovers spat? Who was the lover? The bet was on Vilkas or Farkas, except for Njada who was betting it was a love triangle between the three. Aela shook her head and turned her attension to Vilkas.

"Go tell Baalgruf about the situation, he needs to know. And while you're at it, find Vignar and Eorlund and do the same." Aela demanded tiredly. She expected a gruff or even a small fight or spat but instead Vilkas seemed almost relieved to get out of there. The whelps all noted and raised a curious eyebrow at the uncharacteristic behavior of the usually hot-tempered man but wisely chose to stay quiet on the matter.

"Who's our Harbinger now?" Ria piped up as Aela made her way towards the sleeping-quarters.

"No one." came the curt answer which the huntress had hoped would stop further questions.

"Then will there be a vote? A trial of proving? What?" Njada demanded, earning her a glare which she promptly and visably ignored.

Aela sighed and rubbed her temples. How she loathed that keen-eyed and intuitive little shit that was Njada. Great fighter, terrific brawler but a lousy people-person with a knack for driving people up the wall.

Heavy footsteps interrupted the pending fight hanging in the air between the two women. Aela looked up to see Farkas making his way up into the hall with a knap-sack slung over one of his broad shoulders. The first thing that ran through her mind must have been visible on her face because Farkas looked straight at her, put his hand on her shoulder and shook his head to answer her question. No, he was not leaving to, thank the Gods.

"Breezehome..." he sighed, offering up a week smile as he nodded to the knap-sack. It was almost eerie silent as he made his way through the hall, only Athis breaking it momentarily by patting the Nord on his shoulder in silent support. The elf was sharp, he probably knew more than he let on but he was also smart enough to keep things to himself.

Aela watched as Farkas reached for the door, contemplating going with him just to make sure he didn't run of. She sensed he had more invested in Des than anyone knew and she was worried he might take off after her. The chances of finding someone like Des though, when she didn't want to be found was slim to none. She was too smart, too good at persuading and even better at hiding. How Des pulled of sneaking and hiding in plain view while wearing a full set of heavy armor was beyond her though. She had trouble even in her leather armor.

Njada’s arrogant voice again interrupted the huntress train of thought.

"If we got no Harbinger and there's a spot open in the Circle..."

"Des is Harbinger." Farkas interrupted her and glared at her with the same type of resentment the huntress had seen him use on Vilkas only a few days ago. It was shocking to see that the gentle brute had it in him to look so murderous but it got the job done. Everyone shut up nicely but Aela could swear she saw Athis lips twitch in a quick smirk while the rest of the room looked wide-eyed and wary at Farkas. Athis must know or suspect what she herself suspected, she was certain.

"What? But she's not even here!" Njada spat gathering herself enough to stare back at Farkas.

"Not your concern..." He sneered back before turning to leave.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was Des up to during the time Farkas, Aela and Vilkas made their way back to Whiterun? How did she deal with everything?
> 
> .
> 
> Enjoy!

I kept running for Gods only knew how long, never stopping or even pausing until an arrow whooshed past my head and brought me to a screeching halt. Without much thought I launched myself at my attacker. Be it friend or foe, it was going to die tonight.

When my attacker lay dead, carelessly thrown in a pile next to a few scant bushels, I followed the scent of what I identified as a bandit, back to an abandoned shipwreck and rampaged through it with a good conscience. When the screams had quieted and everything again was calm, I collected every piece of fur and bedroll I could find before curling my still shapeshifted self up in a makeshift nest in the bowls of the ship. I listened to the wind, whining out its loud complaints while making its way through the broken ship where I lay, sadly keening myself to a restless sleep.

As soon as I woke up, cold and miserable in that dreadful place, I gathered what armor and weapons I could before dragging my weary self all the way to Windhelm. I needed to resupply before going back to Riften and I was planning on more or less be in and out of the city in a matter of hours, but as I made my way towards the local inn for some food I overheard a conversation about an orphaned child. He was apparently holed up in his family home praying for someone from the Dark Brotherhood to come help him. I momentarily thought about leaving it be, but then again, I never was one to leave a child in need.

Lucia had been an orphan girl, begging in the streets of Whiterun when I first arrived there. I couldn't just leave her alone when everyone around her more or less ignored her. So I took her under my wing, making sure she had clothes, food and that she always could sleep at the Bannered Mare. Some time later I was awarded for my services to the city and the Jarl and allowed to buy Breezehome. I didn't even flinch. I bought the estate immediately, complete with furniture and decorations and then promptly marched out of Dragonsreach to find Lucia. She'd been my adoptive daughter ever since, though Lydia - my housecarl - was probably closer to the kid, seeing as how I was rarely home. But at least I could rest easier knowing Lucia now had a home again, someone to provide for her and even someone to look after her.

Arriving in Windhelm I rented a room at the Freezing Heart. There I could wash up and above all, change my armor without freezing my private's off. I had on the most atrocious hide and fur armor, scavenged from the dead bandits by the ship-wreckage were I had slept. My own trusted nordic steel armor had been stripped from my body, likely cracking at the seams as I burst into transformation. Thankfully my knapsack never left my back even in my transformed state and I always had a spare armor in it. I pulled on my Guild Master armor, thinking it was pretty suitable since I would be breaking and entering later on. But I made a mental-note to look for a new heavy armor set.

After re-dressing I made my way into the dining area and had some food and drink while waiting for nightfall.

Picking the lock on the estate was pathetically easy even while hiding in the shadows and I found myself rolling my eyes at my less honorable skills. I made my way stealthily inside and thought the boy would be scared when I suddenly appeared. Instead he lit up like a lantern upon my arrival, not giving me a moment to speak before flying into his own assumptions about me being from the Dark Brotherhood. As it turned out though, I didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise, nor to refuse his request. His wish was for Grelod the Kind, head mistress of the orphanage in Riften, to have an untimely demise. And I knew of Grelod. I knew she was anything _but_ kind and this boy didn’t want her dead out of malice or even a selfish reason. He wanted her dead because he wanted to protect his friends. Thus, I couldn’t say no. I just couldn’t burst his bubble and therefor I agreed to the job, letting him think the Dark Brotherhood had come to his rescue. 

Before leaving Windhelm I petition the Jarl for the chance to join the Stormcloaks. The empire had, as Ralof said when we made our way out of the burning Helgen, shown their real colors when they decided to execute me without even a smidgeon of proof that I had done something even remotely illegal. Ulfric Stormcloak and his second in command, Galmar, was both a bit suspicious since I refused to show my face, but eventually they relented and I was sent to kill an Ice Wraith on a northern isle as a matter to prove my worth. I managed to keep my patronizing comments about such an easy mission to myself. I accepted without missing a beat but I was used to killing dragons, necromancers and draugr so a measly little Ice Wraith’s seemed a little anti-climactic. Then again, Galmar and Ulfric didn’t need to know that. They didn't like me enough as it was.

Before I left I notified them I would return as soon as I was able because I was going all the way to Riften and back before I would head out to the Isle. I suspected they wouldn't be caught dead sending anyone after me even if they thought I failed but I didn’t want to chance it and end up with people's death's on my conscience. Ulfric ignored me and Galmar only nodded grumpily at me but other than that, I might as well have been air and my words mute.

After going back to the in to retrieve my stuff I went down to the stables. I didn't want to walk all the way across Skyrim so I paid the carriage-driver and hoisted myself up in back. My head was buzzing like a kicked bee-hive as I settled in on the floor, wrapping myself in my cloak and immersed myself in one of my newly purchased magic-books. And by the time I got back to Riften I not only knew a new spell but I had almost managed to fully bury the sorrow of loss deep in my soul.

I thanked the driver and skulked down to the Ragged Flagon through the back entrance in the graveyard and was welcomed much like I was used to. With Rune asking me if I’d found anything to hint about his past, Brynjolf being knee-deep in work and hardly having the time to say ‘hi’ and the ever snarky Vex looking down on everyone. The guild offered companionship, food and shelter but unlike Jorrvaskr it never became home. It was a Thieves Guild after all and I didn't trust anyone as far as I could throw them. So I did my rounds, checking in on everyone and made sure our business ran smoothly all the while awaiting nightfall. When there was nothing more to occupy my time with in the guild, I peeked in to the Bee and Barb Inn to look for my friend.

Much to my relief I found that Marcurio had come back here after I left Whiterun. The moment he laid eyes on me I thought the Inn would explode from the violence of his temper but instead he waved me over to his table. We caught up a little while having drinks, which mainly meant him chewing me out good for disappearing on his ass. And when I felt the wizard had calmed enough to not keelhaul me for asking him a favor I asked him to deliver a message for me. The message was nothing fancy, just a note for Lydia telling her I was ok and asking her to care for Lucia while I was occupied elsewhere. I knew she wouldn’t like that I didn't give more details but I would have to deal with that mess on a later date, because I honestly didn't know where I was going. Nor for how long I would be at it.

Marcurio shook his head.

"You know I was not the only one pissed at you right?" Marcurio disclosed looking pointedly in my direction.

"Lydia threw a hissy-fit when the Companions returned without you. Blamed them even. Lucia was the one taking your disappearance the best, _"Mama's fine. I know she is. She's the strongest person I know and that's why everyone needs her help."_ she said right before I left." Marcurio finished and I felt Lucia's words not only warmed me to the core, but made me smile.

Unfortunately it also made me blush and Marcurio of course found that hilarious.

"You can lop off a person’s head or have someone spit obscenities at you without even batting an eye. But a child fawns over you and you blush like a youngster with a crush!" Marcurio laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes and all I could do was scowl in annoyance as I felt my blush deepened. Kicking him under the table and hearing him wince gave me some small sense of satisfaction but in the end we both knew he was right. I _was_ a sucker for kids.

Maybe because I had left home when I was still considered a youngling or maybe because I had never really been allowed to be a child. There was always something to learn, always something I had to do and my father never left much time for anything but duty and obligation. Those thoughts had my mind wander back to the orphaned child in Windhelm and my upcoming mission. I looked outside. Nighttime had finally arrived thus I swallowed the last of my wine and threw some septims on the table.

"I need to run an, _errand._ " I told Marcurio.

"Mmmhmmm." The wizard answered into his glass, looking at me with knowing eyes and in response I stuck my tongue out at him as I stood to leave.

"I'll be back later if you feel like drinking me under the table while having another laugh at my expense." I grinned with a wave over my shoulder and sauntered out of the inn.

My skin prickled at the contact with the moist nighttime air. It was chilly but thankfully not the kind of freezing chill one could find in Windhelm or Winterhold. It still did keep the majority of the people in Riften inside throughout the night though and for that I thanked my lucky star. The less people that wandered the streets, the less potential witnesses I had to dodge.

I skulked my way to the orphanage without drawing any attension. I picked the lock with ease but had to hide and wait for the patrolling guards to pass before slipping through the door without so much as a creek of a floorboard. Hiding comfortably in the shadows I made myself invisible through magic while listening to the kids getting a mean talking to. My blood boiled at the horrid way she treated the poor souls and as the kids were ushered to bed an eerie, unnatural calm settled over the orphanage. I made my way to the room where Grelod sat, probably pondering her next sadistic move and I made sure no one else was in the vicinity before advancing for the kill.

I doubted the children would stir up any fuss if they caught me - Gods, they'd probably be thankful - but there was that sweet, innocent girl working here that I didn’t know how she'd react if she found me out. I couldn’t risk it.

When I was sure I was in the clear I renewed my invisibility-spell, reached for my bow and nocked an arrow. Carefully I followed the dark shadows into the room were Grelod was residing but my steps faltered when I heard quiet sobs nearby. As I drew a deep breath, sniffing for clues, I could smell fear, blood and degradation. My anger flared like a firestorm again. That twisted hag was hurting children somewhere nearby and without as much as a second thought I put away my bow and drew my dagger instead. A nice elven blade with a paralyze-enchantment that I had found in a dwemer ruin. And which made for an excellent sidearm.

Grelod would not get the curtesy of a quick, clean death. I'd make sure she knew who sent me and why before her spirit left this world.

Slowly and very quietly I snuck my way within range of the old hag before quickly grabbing her hair from behind and let the knife effortlessly slide across her throat. I supported the shocked woman, whispering secrets in her ear as she quietly sagged into a heap on the floor. When the light left her eyes I unceremoniously left her there, fighting the urge to desecrate her dead body in further punishment.

The sounds and smells coming from a locked door i the room Grelod had guarded made me instinctively snap back to the present. I picked the lock to a nearby door where the odors and sound were sharpest and winced when I was met by the sight of two emaciated children, chained to the wall. The room had no light-source, it was damp and cold, smelled like a sewer and being chained by the wrists to the wall left the kids unable to use the excrement-buckets left in the room. They were sobbing quietly, shivering and the boy had soiled himself. I clicked my tongue in anger and picked the lock to their cuffs in a mere moment. I patted the children on their heads after helping them up and then used the children’s exited reaction to Grelod's dead body as a diversion to disappear. One spell and a few moments later I was back out on the streets of Riften and strutting my way to the Bee and Barb for a hearty meal and lots of mead.

I spent the night drinking and talking with Marcurio - though I left out the particulars about the Companion's pack-troubles and I didn't welcome sleep that night. I knew I would have unwelcome nightmares of past horrors if I did and in the morning I made arrangements for the Thieves Guild to keep an eye on the Orphanage. Vex had agitatedly wondered why in Oblivion the guild should spend money on runts and I hid behind the half-truth that it would be profitable in the long run. Orphans often did make the best thieves since they usually had nothing to lose and with that Devlin smiled smugly at Vex and said _"I told you she had a good reason!"_ I made my last run through the members, delegated leadership to Brynjolf and Karliah - my fellow Nightingale's - and let them know I might be gone a while. I promised to keep in touch as well as leave caches of spoil to be picked up in my wake.

When the arrangement with the guild was done I gathered my things and went to meet up with Marcurio at the city gates. He was unabashedly flirting with one of the guards when I approached and I couldn't help but smile at my friend’s tenacity. He'd been hunting this particular guard for a while now and the poor Nord probably couldn’t tell up from down in his embarrassment right about now. I patted the guard on the back and whispered to him to just surrender already. Then I turned to Marcurio to hand over the letter I had asked him to deliver for me. He accepted it and made me promise not to leave him hanging in boredom for too long before we said our goodbyes.

I promised I'd always try to hire him before anyone else and then snuck in a hug as I turned to leave for the Nightingale stronghold. I needed to switch attire again. I much preferred the Nightingale armor to the Thieve Guild’s attire since it did a better job of hiding me as well as keep me warm but I didn’t take it with me often since I wasn't supposed to let it become known who wore it. But now I couldn’t care less. No one was going to be allowed close enough to know. No one was going to see me change nor see my face as I ran around trying to distract myself from my pain.

No. Desthia - Des for short - was simply going to disappear for an unknown period of time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alot can happen in a year.

One year ago, after the incident with Grelod in the Riften orphanage I had woken up in an abandoned shack somewhere in the middle of the marshes of Morthal. Some woman tried to convince me that I owed her and the Dark Brotherhood a debt for stealing one of their marks. Besides me, there were three other people in that shack and the snarky woman wanted me to kill one of them to pay my so called debt. I ended up wiping out the entire abomination that was the Dark Brotherhood instead. Thieving I could stomach, mostly since I could control the jobs and flow of events to benefit most parties. But contract killing steered only by the whims of a possessed corps? No way... That’s where I drew my limit.

Since then it had been an eventful year to say the least. I don't think I consciously stayed in one place longer than a day or two, always rushing off on some mission or another. Big or small, nothing was beneath me in my quest to forget my pain. It was worst when I was alone and idle, hence my constant movement and minimal sleep. Most times I even ate on the move.

Sometimes I brought Marcurio along, as I promised him that day so long ago in Riften, but since he got together with my Housecarl Aegis from Markarth I had grown reluctant to keep them apart for too long. Also, I didn't want to risk getting Marcurio killed when he had finally found someone to be truly happy with. So to cover for my reluctance to bring the wizard along on my missions, I made him steward of my home in Falkreath instead. Of course I also switched up the housecarls so Aegis was assigned to Lakeview Manor together with Marcurio while Rayya was sent to Vlindrel Hall in Markarth. Thankfully none of the men seemed to mind taking care of my adopted strays, Sophie and Lucia, nor did they mind the frequent visits of Lydia who liked keeping close tabs on Lucia’s wellbeing.

A few times during my year on the run, I had been forced to pair up with other mercenaries and ilk, whether I wanted to or not. But mostly I traveled, fought and hunted alone and in my diligence to keep myself occupied I had managed to become Thane in almost every major settlement across Skyrim. Not that I wanted the positions but as I found out, Jarls rarely listened to what others wanted when they had their sight set on something. And there was no getting away from the fact that many was clamoring to get in favorably with the famous Dragonborn.

When I went to the College of Winterhold - for what was supposed to be a brief visit to get help with handling a summoning-spell that didn’t wanna cooperate - I instead ended up averting a magical disaster of epic proportions. And before I really knew what happened I was being appointed the new Arch Mage, as a reward for my services. My quite adamant protests to the mere idea, was meet with a deaf ear. Even the mages saw an opportunity to get in good with the Dragonborn it seemed and my opinions in the matter was therefore rendered moot.

Dragons was a constant bother during my travels. Mostly I was relieved if they attacked away from towns but I had lost count on how many dragons I had battled over the year and it was getting quite tedious. On the upside though, I had found so many word-walls I was becoming quite fluent in Dovahzul, or dragon-speech as others called it. My hunt for Alduin didn’t always result in dragons getting killed though. I had also conversed with a dragon, befriended a dragon, caught and befriended another dragon, flown with that dragon and gone to Sovngard to battle the scourge of dragonkin, Alduin himself.

There had been a brutal battle of epic proportions together with the three heroes of Alduin’s past defeat, and in the end we emerged victorious, if not totally unharmed. Getting back to Skyrim though, was another matter entirely. Truth be told it was utterly horrible. Every piece of my body had ached with the pain of a thousand firestorms and I had lost myself in the pain for a week according to Paarthurnax and the Greybeards. Thankfully I didn’t remember any of it.

It didn’t take long before I jumped headlong into the search of missions again after my recovery and it seemed the Gods agreed. I had hardly made it down the seven thousand steps before I was attacked in Ivarstead by some people from an alleged dragon cult. The cult was based in Solstheim and I didn’t waste a moment in getting there. The island was in bad shape upon my arrival and I ended up tangling once more with Hermaeus Mora. But this time also with his puppet, the fabled first Dragonborn - Miirak - whom had made a pact with the Daedric Prince of secrets and knowledge, in order to defeat his dragon masters.

Throughout the year I had also ended up dancing with other Daedric Princes. Enough of them to last me at least three life times and while some encounters gained me some perks, weapons and even armor. Others resulted in permanent enemies for refusing their demands. Sanguine, Boethiah, Mehrunes Dagon, Malacath, and Vaermina were some of them. Dealing with Hermaeus Mora and his realm, Apocrypha though, was still the worst by far. Just the thought of all my time spent running around that gods forsaken stink-hole made my skin crawl and my stomach churn. Though dealing with the cannibalistic servant of Namira was a close second in terms of nauseating experiences.

When dabbling with Malacath I also spent some time with the orcs. Turns out the orcs weren’t even half as bad as the rumors made them out to be. One just had to see things from their perspective and respect their way of life and then they would welcome you with open arms. They even named me blood-kin for my services.

What was still baffling my mind was the fact that I had done all this and still managed to keep myself alive as well as my identity secret. I was simply known as Dovahkiin or Dragonborn.

Now? I was tired.

I missed Marcurio, Lydia, Sophie and Lucia. I missed not having to sleep in my armor and I missed having people around that was not out to gain favors. And oblivion curse me, I missed my pack, even the grumpy Vilkas. I wasn't satisfied with just watching over them from a distance on the odd occasions I found myself in Whiterun.

\--

My first time back in Whiterun after the pack’s falling out, had started an ace in my heart that never really went away. I was delivering the axe of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak to Jarl Baalgruf. Whom I had hoped to persuade away from the Imperials, but the stubborn man refused to see reason. Not even when I presented evidence about the Thalmor's involvement did he relent. The axe was returned to me, to deliver right back to Ulfric as a means to let him know Whiterun would stand with the Empire. I was baffled. I had been so sure Baalgruf of all people would see reason but he would rather back the crumbling Empire in bed with the Thalmor. War was coming in the near future and with that in mind headed for the Bannered Mare to wait for nightfall. Torvar was there with Brill and as I passed them on my way to my room, I overheard them talking about how things still hadn't recovered since Kodlak died.

Their words cut deep, reopening wounds I had hoped I had buried and I abandoned my thoughts of drinking or even eating as I holed myself up in my room until darkness fell. Then I changed into my thief’s armor before slipping outside to make my way over to Breezehome. Too many people knew the Dragonborn wore the black leather armor that was the standard issue for the Nightingale's. And I couldn’t risk getting my identity blown here and have my family put at risk. Everyone wanted something from the Dragonborn and some would certainly take hostages to get what they wanted if they had the opportunity. Therefor I always wore a different armor when going to any of my homes, one I never used for anything else, namely my first armor from my time in the thieves guild.

I didn't get more than a few steps into Breezehome before I was faced with the pointy end of a sword attached to a furious housecarl. Lydia almost strung me up by the neck in her fury about me leaving her in the dark for so long. She was clearly not happy with the level of communication that was my occasional letter and all I could do was apologize as I tried to explain. It was a hard thing getting Lydia to calm down enough to listen. Thankfully Lucia was playing somewhere outside and didn’t hear or witness the fight. Once Lydia finally calmed down enough to stop waving her sword in my face, I told her to take Lucia and go to Lakeview Manor. The house was located north-east of Falkreath and just a moment south of the eastern end of Lake Ilinalta. But instead of telling Lydia the truth about the impending war, I told her to go because Lucia had an adoptive sister there. Sophie, who was living with Rayya, the housecarl I was assigned from the Jarl of Falkreath.

I told them to stay for a month or two, too let the children bond. And when I had finally gotten the suspicious Lydia to agree, I slunk back out to the streets of Whiterun and walked out the gate under the cover of darkness. Knap-sack slung over one shoulder and hood pulled as far down over my face as I could manage. Needless to say I changed armor the first chance I had.

Not even a week later came Ulfric's retaliation and the hostile takeover of Whiterun. It was the starting point of the dreaded civil war and a war which I unfortunately had to partake in. I didn't want another war when I already had Alduin to think about, I didn’t want to kill and I didn't want brother killing brother. And what was worse, I didn't want the Thalmor to get the satisfaction of Skyrim killing itself for them. So I did what I could to minimize losses on both sides. Always rushing ahead of the main force, taking down as many soldiers I could manage with arrows or stabs to none-lethal bodyparts before they could foolishly get themselves killed. I’d rather have them as prisoners of war than dead.

The war was over in a matter of weeks and by the time Skyrim was under Ulfric's rule everyone knew the Dragonborn was the dreaded _"Black Stormblade"_ who Ulfric claimed had turned the tide of the war. I hadn't had the time to get a new heavy armor fitted and had therefor stuck to my Nightingale armor. In retrospect this was maybe not the best decision since it was bound to get me a lot of new enemies during my quest to slay Alduin, but the damage was already done and I’d have to deal with the consequences later. Ulfric wanted me to stay in Windhelm as his left arm once the war had settled. He claimed he needed his Thane and left arm to root out rebellions and uprisings and he wasn't exactly happy when I declined. Thankfully though he understood when faced with the knowledge that I had to find a way to eliminate Alduin or we’d all be dead.

Just before getting dragged into Ulfric's war, I had met the Blades. They were secretive and mistrusting but I had no choice but to help them to get what I needed. Delphine got me into the Thalmor embassy where she was certain I would find documents proving the Dragons rising from their graves was their doing. Instead I found dossiers on Ulfric among others and what was written in them would get even the most hardened pacifist to rise up. Or so I had thought. After finding the Blades ancient cave I learned of a shout that could bring down dragons and I had been on my way to the Greybeards to verify the fact when I failed to persuade Jarl Baalgruf in Whiterun about the Thalmor's schemes. And thus I got roped into the civil war that I had to oversee to make sure both sides didn't ravage each other to the point where the Thalmor could just waltz in and take over without a fight.

When I finally got to High Hrothgar after the civil war was settled, I was granted a rather harsh lesson from Arngeir about the Blades and their misguided concepts of justice. He was preaching to the choir though since I was well aware of the fact that the world was rarely the kind of black and white that the Blades saw it as. They wanted every last dragon destroyed, I however, did not. As long as the dragons didn't kill mercilessly or prayed needlessly on the inhabitants of Nirn, I saw no reason to hunt them to extinction. And I had no intension of restoring or supporting an order that viewed the thu'um as nothing but a weapon for war and conquering. And to be honest I didn't exactly appreciate the Greybeards insinuations just because need drove me to accept their help for a while.

When that hiccup was dealt with I got summoned by the mysterious leader of the Greybeard and that meeting was rather shocking. Paarthurnax was a dragon. We talked for what must have been hours and he taught me a lot of things about both Dragon's and Thu'um's. He also assisted me in getting my hands on the controversial shout to bring down a dragon, _"Dragonrend"_ , and no more had I returned to my senses after absorbing the word before we were assaulted by Alduin. Thankfully Paarthurnax was true to his word of friendship and took the first few blows until I could regain my bearings. Together we managed to bring Alduin down and defeat him enough for him to retreat. And while I healed and rested my battered body, Paarthurnax told me how to and where to trap Alduin's right hand - Odahviing.

My most recent visit to Whiterun was when I asked the newly appointed Jarl Vignar's help in the capture of said dragon. Dragonsreach was built to capture dragons and I needed Odahviing caught to learn how to get to Alduin. Vignar had reluctantly agreed and once the deed was done Odahviing offered up a counteroffer to my demand of his help. I decided to take a few hours to mull things over and strolled the city while contemplating my options. In the town square I met a familiar sight. Vilkas and Ria stood hunched over Camilla's vegetable-stall and I made sure to keep my distance and kept upwind from Vilkas. I didn’t want him identifying me and even though Ria gawked and pointed discretely my way, Vilkas only took one look, rolled his eyes and scoffed. My heart clenched at the familiar sights and smells and I had to bite my tongue to keep a sad whine of longing from escaping my throat.

That was several months ago and I had long since defeated Alduin.

Right now I was only a day's march from Whiterun, closer than I usually were under normal circumstances, since I didn’t want to risk running into my pack, but I had been requested to kill the giants of Sleeping Tree Camp. Granted the Bounty had been issued a long time ago but it seemed no one had taken care of it yet. It was such a waste to kill both giants and mammoths but the big brutes wouldn’t listen to suggestions of moving, giants rarely did, and thus I was forced to fell them.

When pillaging the camp I found the body of an orc near the pond with the sleeping tree, Ulag his name was if the letter found on his body was anything to go by. The letter seemed to be from Ysolda in Whiterun and prompted the retrieval of the Sleeping Tree Sap. The woman was, from the looks of things, not the innocent, sweet little girl she portrayed herself as and I was going to have to finish the quest started by this orc, if only to see that girl squirm.

I was still a little pissed at her for not believing me about the time I had been tricked by the Daedric Prince Sanguine, Lord of hedonistic revelry and debauchery. He disguised himself as a human named Sam, challenged me to a drinking contest in Morthal and I, depressed, lonely and tired as I was, foolishly accepted. I woke up naked in the temple of Dibella in Markarth with a priestess yelling my already pounding head off. I found out I had been out of it for three whole days and had been running rampage through Skyrim together with this "Sam"-character that later turned out to be Sanguine. In the end I had returned the ring Ysolda accused me off stealing – the ring I had to literary cut of a deluded Hagraven’s finger - and I could even show her Sanguine's staff that I got after tracking him down but she still threatened to have me arrested. It was going to feel so good to put her in her spot.

The smell of roasting meat had my stomach churn restlessly, bringing me back from my reminiscing and I turned my attension towards the skewers with mammoth-meat over the huge open fire built by the giants. I cut off some meat, sat myself back down in a nook between two rocks where I was hidden from view and started nibbling at the meat together with an apple I had brought in my pack. But the crunching of heavy feet trying to, unsuccessfully sneak up me had me forgetting my growling stomach.

I pulled up my hood and mask and wriggled my way into the shadows behind the stones surrounding the fire. Activating my gift from Nocturnal – another Daedric Prince, whose temple I as a Nightingale was sworn to protect - I gained a moment of almost complete invisibility which I used to silently sneak towards the unwelcome intruder. Keeping myself hidden among the shadows, I followed the hulking man as he carefully made his was around the camp. My bow was trained on him the entire time and I almost shot him in the head when his face became visible in the light of the fire. I would recognize those eyes anywhere. Liquid steel emphasized by black warpaint. 

“Farkas…” I heard myself whisper before I could put a sock in it and watched as my pack-brother swirled around, greatsword at the ready while he sniffed the air, looking nervous.

“Show yourself, coward!” he growled, scowling around the camps shadows, instinctively facing my direction and I knew I only had two choices. Flee or confront and I _really_ didn’t feel like fleeing without half my armor and my knapsack, nor did I feel like knocking my pack-brother out. The risk was high he would recognize my scent when I got close enough and he would be furious with me for attacking him. Plus, I doubted I could knock him out before he caught me, the man was quite lithe despite his bulk. And the thought of this gentle giant getting angry with me, more than he probably already was, wasn't pleasant so I opted for confrontation.

I slung the bow carefully back onto my back and slowly raised myself from my hiding spot, knowing full well my black armor - even without the cape, gloves and boots - made me very hard to spot. But Farkas seemed to sense me and was focused in my direction even if his eyes hadn’t locked fully onto my form yet. I slowly made my way into the light, holding up my ungloved hands to show him I didn’t mean to fight.

His eyes narrowed as they took in my form. He was on edge.

“Farkas, easy now. I don’t want to hurt you.” I said in what I hoped was a soothing voice. It was hard to tell. I hardly ever talked since running away from my life. I shouted my thu’um’s yes, but rarely only talked. I found body-language, gesturing and written word yielded the same results and it was safer. Giving people one less thing to use as a clue in their quest to know who the Dragonborn was.

Farkas looked confused, still on edge but he sniffed the air more frequently, cocking his head as he looked from me to the ground and then shook his head slightly. I remembered I was still wearing my Nightingale armor and as such he probably had difficulty with contradicting sensory-information. His eyes told him he was standing in front of the Dragonborn but his sense of smell probably told him I was me and the two probably wasn't the most easily things to combine. He was still cautious, his eyes intent on me and his grip hardening on his huge sword as I reached up to pull on my hood and mask. It was the easiest way to end this stand-off but I had to make sure no one but him saw me.

“ _Laas Yah Nir_.” Rumbled in a soft whisper over my lips, revealing that there was only a few small critters in the vicinity. Farkas shivered. Even as a whisper the shout could be felt by those standing close and I could tell it made him even more uneasy.

I gathered my courage to meet my fate and as I pulled the hood and mask from my features, my heart sank into the pit of my stomach. I closed my eyes and bit my lip, waiting for the accusations I was sure would come.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunion time. Smut and fluff along with some revelations.  
> .
> 
> Enjoy!

All I heard as I shook out my white dreads was Farkas huge sword clattering to the ground. There was a ruffle of boots as they moved through the underbrush and before I even had time to react, I yelped at being scoped up into a bone-crushing hug. His nose buried itself in the crook of my neck, drawing in a deep breath as a happy rumble emanated from somewhere deep within him. I couldn’t help but laugh slightly at his reaction as well as the fact that his nose tickled me and I hugged him back, my wolf practically bouncing up and down with excitement, yapping away like a ruffled pup.

I was about to say I was sorry, to try and explain why I had left but the words stuck in my throat when he pulled slightly away to look me in the eyes with the broadest grin I'd ever seen him sport.

His huge hands on either side of my face, cupping my sharp elven cheeks. His thumbs stroking my cheekbones down to my lips making me forget to breath. He suddenly looked anxious, then hungry and moments later his lips crashed to mine as he seemed to have made up his mind. There was a desperation there that shook me to my core - me and my wolf both it seemed, because it offered none of its usual resistance – and the kiss sparked a hunger in me, one I had never felt on this scale. Anyone could get a bit lustful at times but not like this. I felt more than lightheaded and my blood more or less howled in my veins.

My arms went around Farkas’ neck on their own accord, nestling in his shoulder-length black hair and pulling him closer as I licked the Nord’s lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss. There was a growl coming from him again, and this time it was not a happy one. It was possessive, demanding and somewhere in the back of my mind I wondered why in Oblivion I didn’t fight back at that. Instead I felt my pulse quicken to the point where I thought my heart would hammer itself out of my chest. Farkas smelled so good, like home. His touch was familiar, soothing and comforting but at the same time unknown and maddening. He was crushing us together like his life depended upon it and seemed to grow impatient with the lack of sensations due to our restricting armor.

I didn’t think, I just started on the buckles of his armor feeling almost a giddy glee at the sound of his pauldrons hitting the ground. It was hard trying to hold onto some sliver of sanity as I felt his nibbling kisses trail down my cheek to my neck and a love bite just below my ear had me gasp out a whimper as my knees buckled. Farkas caught me but let us sink to our knees in the grass, still clutching me to him, kissing me fervently. But there was too much armor in the way, to little skin to touch, to feel and possess and I wrenched myself from him to claw at the offensive armor keeping me from what I wanted. What I realized I needed.

As soon as my cuirass and breast-band were off I was once again pressed against Farkas’ chest. I moaned in appreciation as my lust-addled mind noticed the lack of armor. There was only soft curls on warm skin pressing against my own darker skin and I let my fingers roam that broad pale chest and chiseled muscles all the way down to his leather pants. I realized Farkas was growling and moaning almost as much as I was and I decided to topple us to the ground. The huge Nord didn’t even put up a fight as I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him backwards with me. The chill of the ground on my back hardly register in my mind. I kissed him as he landed on top of me, leaning his weight on one arm so he wouldn’t crush me under him. By the nine he was huge.

Our kisses grew urgent and suddenly Farkas almost jolted to his knees, making me whine at the loss off his warm skin, ruff hands and intoxicating lips. I tried to follow him but got pushed down with yet another of those growls I somewhere in the back of my mind, knew I should react to. I felt my leather leggings getting ripped off and lost my trail of thought as I realized he was about to claim me for his own. I managed to hold on to that thought long enough to realize, to my own surprise that I for once in my life, didn’t care.

I trembled as Farkas kissed and nibbled his way up the inside of my thigh, groaning as he caught my scent. He continued up my pelvis and stomach, stopping to give my breasts a moment of torturous attension while I wrapped my legs around his muscular waist. My breath stuttered not only at the attension he was lavishing on my breasts but at the feel of his throbbing length against my groin. I whimpered his name and ground my hips into his, nestling my hands in his soft black hair. Never had I felt such an ache to be filled and as he gave into our need, sinking himself slowly and carefully into my core, I felt whole.

As he bottomed me out, he growled into the crook of my neck, seemingly forcing himself to give my tiny body some time to adjust to his girth. For which I suspected I would be thankful for later on but right then and there it was only frustrating. I moaned with every twitch of his shaft, buried deep inside me and I couldn’t help but rock my hips to get some semblance of friction. Farkas must have the willpower of Skyforged Steel because he pulled out as gently as he kissed me before pushing carefully back in, making me gasp at the movement. But the careful sweetness dissipated with every thrust and soon I was seeing stars, howling in mind-numbing pleasure as he pounded into me. Each thrust building the heat in my stomach further until I felt myself getting thrown off the edge of sanity. My nerve's felt like they were on fire and every thrust sent jolts of lightning through my body, prolonging my high until I felt Farkas curling over me with an outdrawn moan as his heat pulsed into me.

We stayed like that for gods knew how long, enjoying each other’s closeness until the chill in the air made my skin prickle and force my mind back to the land of the living. Farkas smiled as he pulled me into a loving embrace and kissed me in earnest before getting up to find a bedroll.

\--

There was a rustle beside me. The knowledge of the sound slowly registered in my brain and equally slow my brain started focusing on that knowledge. What it meant and how it could affect me, and then I jolted upright, wide awake in the blink of an eye. As my eyes focused on the area where the rustling came from they noticed a fox scampering off. Probably frightened by my sudden movements.

I shivered in the chill of the dawning day and realized I was more rested then I had been since accepting the beastblood. Before my brain could catch up to where I was and why, there was a disgruntled whine, bordering on growl and I found myself abruptly drawn back down to the bedroll and into a warm embrace that made any chill still lingering on my flesh dissipate. The smell of home, of belonging and possession kept me from acting out and I relaxed into Farkas as the night events replayed in my mind. The Nord let out a content gruff as he nuzzled and kissed the top of my head, yawning a good morning.

The big brute cracked an eye open to look at me when I touched his face with my tiny hand. Compared to Farkas bulk I was ridiculously small but it felt as if he fit perfectly around me.

“You look confused.” Farkas mumbled, letting me go a bit in favor of being able to really look at me.

“It just…” I started, trying to chase down the words to explain this weird feeling.

“Hm, it’s just that you normally lash out at anyone getting within a mile of you with lustful intent?” Farkas rumbled, seemingly amused at my shocked demeanor. And people called this man ice-brain. They thought he wasn’t smart but really he was only another kind of smart. He wasn’t a scholar, nor would he ever be, but he was people-smart, battle-smart and intuitive to a fault.

“Well… yea…” I muttered, still bewildered and snorted irritated when I felt my wolf taunted me for being slow.

“It’s simple really.” Farkas said warmly, kissing my temple and hugging me tighter again. I looked at him expectantly, or tried to from my current position, while he thought about how to phrase his next sentence.

“We were made for each other.” he said with a huge grin and I felt like I had taken a sledgehammer to the gut. Words like “mine”, “possess” and “claim” flashed in my mind and I felt my wolf huff in exasperation. It was clearly not impressed with my distress over something it found so simple. But to me, the bosmer who fled from such a life at the early age of thirty, it was not that simple. It was scary to the point where I wanted to throw up and I felt like I would have rather faced an entire horde of dragons rather than being faced with this.

Farkas must have noticed my distress and Gods bless him for being such a considerate sweetheart about my panic-attack. He just held me as I shivered and whimpered, stroking my back until I was somewhat coherent again. Then he pulled away a little to look at me again.

“You really didn’t know did you?” he asked with that sweet smile of his that could melt even the coldest of glaciers. I shook my head before asking in a whisper;

“How did you know?”

“Well, I was the only you ever let touch you without struggle. Even before you took the blood.” Farkas smiled, kissing my forehead. And now that I thought about it, it was very much true. There had been times when others had been allowed close but it was always a necessity and a conscious choice on my part to not rip them apart. Like when I had let Vilkas warm me after our attack on the Silver Hand. I never brought men along on jobs if I could avoid it, hardly ever said yes to any invitation of passion and the ones I did accept was always on my term. But Farkas? He had always been able to just grab me and give me a hug or a peck on the cheek or even just friendly wrestle.

“But I didn’t really know for sure until…” He trailed off as a shadow seemed to move in over his features. I looked at him, confused for a second before it hit me.

“I’m so, _so_ sorry Farkas! I didn’t mean to…” He kissed me roughly, as if to remind himself that I was still there and when we broke apart he let his eyes stay closed as he leaned his forehead to mine.

“I thought I would kill Vilkas after I learned what happened at Driftshade. First for putting you through that and then for making you leave. I didn’t get a chance to tell you with all the craziness that happened.” he mumbled.

“I’m not even sure why it happened. I’ve been over the event a million times in my head but I still can’t figure out why he did it. I knew he was an ass but… I never gave him _any_ indication that I wanted... _that_. Neither did my wolf, believe me I’ve asked. I only let him hold me because I felt I would freeze to death otherwise. If I’d known…” The words just poured out of me, I still felt guilty, like it was my fault it had happen but Farkas stopped my ramblings.

“I forget you don’t know.” he said, kissing me again. Softly this time before breaking away to answer my unspoken question.

“You know Vilkas denied his wolf right?” I nodded at this. Past tense, I noted and wondered, had they cured him or had he started hunting again?

“Well he had trouble from the start. His wolf hurt him for denying it. Made him grumpy and tired, more than usual.” Farkas took a deep breath before meeting my gaze to continue.

“Driftshade happened because his wolf took control. It shouldn’t have happened! If he hadn’t been denying his wolf… If you hadn’t been so capable… I still want to wring his neck for it!” Farkas growled the last sentence and I felt my wolf stir in response to the growls possessive edge.

“Wait… So… He didn’t understand why I hit him?” I said, staring at Farkas who still looked a bit grumpy, nuzzling my cheek for comfort.

“No, and instead of talking to anyone about it he did what he always does. Clams up and blames anyone but himself.” The words were uncharacteristically bitter and had me kissing his cheek to calm him. Well, at least now everything made more sense.

“But why did you and Aela turn from me, exclude me…” I whimpered as I reopen the old wound.

“Parwen. I’m sorry, we didn’t get a chance to explain.” I jumped at the familiar word out of Farkas mouth. “ _Parwen_ ” was the bosmer equivalent of using the word “ _love_ ” for someone you cared about. I stared at the now slightly grinning Nord but he just continued.

“In the Underforge we still didn’t know what had happened at Driftshade. We knew _something_ had happened since Vilkas was so pissed and you so distant. But we thought it was one of you normal fights. We didn’t want to get involved and we were irritated that you two couldn't stop fighting especially since Kodlak had just been sent off.” Farkas sighed, pausing a moment before continuing.

“We didn’t imagine his wolf getting out of hand like that. If we’d known…” Those amazing silver eyes was pleading with me to understand and I did. But it still didn’t explain why they had basically run from me like I was Oblivion personified.

“But why did you seem so scared of me. Was I that far gone?” I asked horrified at what might be the answer. Farkas throaty laughter filled the air and I was slung back into confusion. I looked at him like he was unhinged until he kissed my cheek and tried to explain.

“You remember what Kodlak always called your fights with my brother? Alpha-battles?” I nodded, silently waiting for the rest of the explanation.

“Well it turns out that you are one hell of an Alpha. Damn it hurts to even look at you when you really don’t want us to.” Farkas smiled like it was the most normal thing in the world but I was still baffled.

“Are you meaning to tell me that I _made_ you all react that way? Like mind-control? Because I was angry and hurt?” I was still confused, and getting even more confused by the minute.

“Not exactly. Werewolves feel the will of the Alpha - hormones I think Aela mentioned - and it can be ignored but it hurts like hell since our wolves’ fights us to be able to respect their Alpha.” Farkas explained and I was beginning to wonder why I never bothered to review the nature of werewolves, because if I had known some of what Farkas now told me, so much hurt could have been avoided. I started feeling guilty again.

“And it wasn’t because you were angry specifically. It probably did make it worse though since you were pretty much signaling everyone in our pack to go fuck off or you’d rip us to shreds. And that’s putting it mildly. Only reason Vilkas could continue being an ass was because his wolf couldn't hurt him anymore than it already was.” Farkas finished, ruffling my dreads to get my attension. I looked unhappily at him.

“I really made a mess of things… I’m so sor…” I was once again interrupted by a kiss. A sweet, loving kiss that had my heart clench.

“Parwen, stop apologizing. We’ll figure this out.” Farkas smiled before sitting up, dragging me with him in the process. I shivered slightly in the chilled morning-breeze and smiled when Farkas let his arms shield me, pulling me into him in a warm, loving embrace. I wasn’t sure I understood everything he told me, I wasn’t sure I _wanted_ to understand some things he told me. But never the less I couldn’t deny the fact that his arms felt like home and it was a long time since I felt so safe and content.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of Des' heated reunion with Farkas. 
> 
> How will she cope with the news of being mated? Will she go back to Jorrvaskr?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It takes a little longer than usual to write the last chapters now since I have to account for the heartfire expansion which was not out yet when this story was originally written. 
> 
> Also I have other stories running parallell to this one which also takes my time. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it none the less!
> 
> // Cheers!!

I must have huffed for the hundredth time today and even though my behavior must have seemed odd - to say the least - Farkas only pulled up our intertwined hands and kissed my knuckles in response.

Somehow in the midst of the fog of our almost frantic passion during the night, Farkas - the big oaf - had gotten me to agree to go back to Jorrvaskr with him and I now found myself unable to back out.

When I realized what I had agreed to - in the absence of a fully functional brain - I tried everything from threats to pleading, including using what Farkas called my 'Alpha' to get the Nord to see reason. But to my irritation he just chuckled sweetly at my squirming before telling me in a soft voice that now when we were mated, none of that would work on him. And when I busied myself with cursing, grumbling and pacing, he took the opportunity to kiss me. It was breathtaking and passionate enough to make my knees wobble before he promptly started dragging me off towards Whiterun. And if he hadn’t been holding my hand more or less all the time since then, I would - probably - have bolted the first chance I got.

Damn those wild kisses that made my head spin, damn my wolf for being such a needy, uncooperative bitch and to Oblivion with Farkas for being smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for.

_“Mated”_ I thought, feeling my stomach churn while my wolf rumble with contentment. If I could, I would have stomped its tail out of pure spite! But instead I had to settle for sighing for the millionth time and kicking the occasional rock in my frustration.

_"Mated…"_ The word played on repeat in my brain. Conjuring up one scenario after another, all of which made me want to run for the hills. Literary. Mating was almost the same as marriage - if I understood this whole werewolf-thing correctly. And marriage meant restrictions. It meant limitations, demands and divines have mercy, pregnancy.

I sighed again and for the first time in a year, my Nightingale armor felt constricting.

I didn't mind my adoptive kids, loved them to bits actually. But the thought of having something grow inside myself, being helpless in the face of dangers for months on end and having my body and skills moldering away during that time, that was scary. My adoptive kids could fend for themselves if need arose. I could tell them to run and they would. They had enchanted knifes, pet's, keen wits and fierce tempers to help shield them against dangers if I was occupied elsewhere. A newborn though. It was just dead weight, dependent on its parents for pretty much everything and it would be at least three years until the little one could obey even the simplest of commands in a dangerous situation. That fact scared me even more.

I sneered when my wolf mocked me for my - according to her - ludicrous reaction. For her the world was a much simpler place of black and white and she found my fretting unbecoming and irritating. Getting pregnant, being protected by ones mate and having pups was just the natural order of things to her and she was surly that I was so against it. It hurt and felt very weird to be in this much disagreement for once and the extra inwardly fighting was making me even more testy and grumpy.

In my panicked fretting I didn't notice Farkas mood shift and when he suddenly stopped, I almost ran headlong into his side. My first reaction was scouting for enemies but as I spun around I found no trace of danger. Blinking in confusion I looked up at him and noticed his distress. He stared at the ground, refusing to meet my gaze and I could literary feel my heart stop. _"I'm hurting him again…"_ I thought and felt a sudden burst of intense anxiety at that. This was supposed to be a happy occasion, even I knew that much, but instead I was sulking like a spoiled brat for reasons he didn't know.

“Farkas?” I said, moving to stand in front of him. I put my hand on his cheek to try and coax him to look at me.

"Those screams..." he blurted suddenly with a gravelly voice. Still looking past me to the ground with features twisted like he was being force-fed thorns. I felt a shudder go through the huge Nord and was at a loss for what to do.

"From the throat of the world a few months ago... that was you?" he continued and it was more a statement then an actual question. He peered up at me through his lashes, eyes filled with a whirlwind of raw emotions as his hand squeezed mine hard.

"What do you mean?" I had been so deep in my own thoughts of my personal nightmare that my mind now had some trouble refocusing my attension. Not to mention that event of reentering my mortal body after the battle in Sovngard seemed like a lifetime ago. I didn't remember much other than the pain. I knew I had been screaming myself hoarse, the Greybeards had told me, but I didn't remember it. I felt horror and shock at the prospect that I perhaps had been screaming loud enough for people to hear me from the world below.

"I knew it was you... No one believed me, but I felt it... Those screams... I couldn't sleep for days." Farkas words once again drew me back from my internal fretting but I had no words to give him. I only stared in my dazed state.

"I went to High Hrothgar, but you were gone..." Farkas keened softly at the last sentence, wearing the same look of defeat and sorrow as when Kodlak died and my heart clenched from the heavy guilt.

"I'm sorry..." I managed to croak put of my unwilling throat, but the words felt hollow, even to my own ears. They weren't enough. Not even close, but it was all I had. Three measly little words was all I had in defense of the horror I had made this man go through. And apparently still made him go through.

I sighed.

We needed to talk. Ha had been pouring his heart out since last night and was giving me everything even though I had given him nothing and that just couldn't go on. He needed to know, to understand why I was having so much trouble accepting this mating-thing. Why I was sulking like a spoiled child, running away and acting weird.

"Come, please, we need to talk..." I pulled him by the hand to a secluded place along the river before plonking myself firmly on the ground and motioning for him to do the same. I pulled out two red apples from my knapsack, gave one to him and bit into mine. While listening to the purling creek I contemplated how I was going to go about telling my story to Farkas. I didn't know how much he knew about, well anything really, so I decided to start with the basics.

"You know elves live longer than humans right?" Farkas nodded at this, still looking a bit glum but with a glimmer of curiosity hinting in his eyes.

"You know the bosmer as a whole rejected the Thalmor way of life?" Again the huge Nord nodded as he chewed on a piece of apple. I sighed heavily. I hated this part.

"What you probably didn't know is that some families adapted to the Thalmor society. But those families always had to fight two or even three times as hard for their survival than even the lowliest of altmer families." Farkas stopped chewing and looked at me, like he could sense where this was going.

"Yes, I belonged to one of those families." I answered his unspoken question and saw his eyes go wide.

"What happened?" he asked carefully while I fidgeted with a few strains of grass, contemplating how to phrase the rest of the information.

"I left..." I said simply and he scoffed at my obvious answer while reaching to squeeze my tiny hand in his.

"Well I know that, but why?" I looked up at him feeling anxious. Honor was a big deal among Nords I had learned during my rather short time here and I had forsaken my duty, disgracing my family's honor in the process and all for the sole purpose of my own freedom. I was scared of being frowned upon, so I just never told anyone and telling Farkas now was as horrifying as facing down Hermaeus Mora. On second thought, I think I preferred the later.

"I... I ran... from an arranged marriage..." I stuttered, curling in on myself. I never realized how much I resented myself for my cowardly decision. I was raised to obey, to honor my family and I had instead chosen to be selfish. I didn't know how my family fared due to my decision, I hadn't bothered to find out or even concern myself with their wellbeing. Now I felt the full burden of my shame. Horribly so.

"Arranged marriage?" Farkas wondered with a hint of disgust tinting his rumbling voice. I didn't dare meet the man’s gaze so I only nodded, hugging my legs to my chest. I was certain the disgust was directed at me, that he would soon leave me to wallow in my own selfishness or give me a lecture. Instead I was startled when he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me over to his warm embrace.

"Why? Are you a princess or something?" he asked, pulling down my hood to nuzzle my dreaded hair like he'd done so many times before. I turned in his embrace and gawked slack-jawed at him. He didn't hate me? Had I misunderstood the value of honor among Nords?

"No… Nothing like that." I managed to stutter in my confusion. His eyes still held his question while he gave me time to recollect myself to continue.

"I was coveted by a high-ranking Thalmor Officer and my father wanted to increase our families standing with the Aldmeri Dominion. As his daughter it was my duty to..." I blurted in a rush until Farkas sneered and had me stop both talking and breathing. I was still anticipating him getting angry with me.

"What kind of twisted logic did they teach you over there?! Duty is _not_ a reason to marry!" Farkas growled, hugging me possessively to him while I just stared, my mind stuck at a complete stand-still.

"You're not offended?" I breathed.

"What? No! Why would I be??" Farkas looked bewildered as I tried to gather myself enough to find my voice again.

"I thought… with the Nords cultural beliefs… honor and duty..." I began, trying to find at least a modicum of coherency but seemingly failing quite spectacularly.

"Parwen..." Farkas interrupted.

"We do value honor and duty, but we marry as Mara intended, out of love."

We talked a lot after that. I told Farkas everything about my past and my fears. He in turn told me about his past and also more about Nord culture. I was surprised to learn that even Jarls, High Kings and Queens married out of love more than duty and I was happy to learn that marriage didn't equal the end of the line for a woman by Nord standards. Some people never had children, some adopted and some had their own. Some people even married their own sex.

In Skyrim marriage was mostly dictated by love and companionship, to which I was sorely unaccustomed, but it opened up my heart to a whole new world of possibilities. I had read about this kind of love in books when I was growing up, dreamed of it even, but never experienced it or even dared think it a possibility.

After leaving my home I stopped thinking about love or relationships all together. There was always too much else to think about in order to survive and by the time I made it to Skyrim I had already learned never to trust men in particular. Then came Helgen. And with it, a whole new set of bizarre problems to drown out any thoughts or wish of romance.

"In the Dominion, women tend to get stuck at home after marriage, since they are expected to reproduce. That's why many marry at a later age..." the next couple of words stuck in my throat and Farkas filled in the blanks.

"But you were being forced into it. And at a young age..." I nodded and nuzzled my face into the crook of his neck. I couldn't even begin to describe the relief that was raging around in my body. Farkas had always made me oddly happy and content. Just by being around him life felt easier and the thought of not having him there anymore hurt a little more than I was yet comfortable with.

I reminded myself I wasn't being forced into this, I wanted it too, even if I hadn't known the extent of it until recently. And, as it turned out, this mating thing wasn't going to end my life as I knew it.

We finished up our meager meal in each other’s arms before starting our way towards Whiterun again. Our walk was immensely more pleasant this time. Filled with talking, laughing and playing around. We even took the time to run our first mated hunt to our wolf's obvious satisfaction. Though we hadn't really anticipated ending up mating in wolf-form under a starry sky. It was a mind-blowing experience, so completely different from having sex as humans and the intensity of the bonding left me a bit shellshocked. Oddly enough the night’s activities had still been loving and even somewhat gentle, considering what we were.

After we regained our human forms there was no doubt in our minds that we - due to our newly forged bond - would most likely be insufferable to our brethren in Jorrvaskr for a while.

\--

When morning came we resumed our journey towards Whiterun and as we came up on the city's stables we were met by a courier. He headed straight for us and I could feel myself tense up even before he spoke.

"Ah, there you are! I've been looking for you." the courier huffed between breaths.

"I have a message for you, from someone named Isran. Very urgent." he continued, holding out a sealed piece of parchment. I accepted the message, tipped the courier and watched him scamper off before opening the letter. I read it slowly, resisting the urge to crumple it that grew stronger with every word I read and when I was done I let my arms fall to my sides, hanging my head in defeat.

Two strong arms came around my waist from behind, pulling my tiny frame into a warm, protective embrace and I gladly followed. Farkas had always instinctively known what I needed, often even before I did and I was grateful as well as terrified to have him to lean on.

"You're needed elsewhere?" the Nords voice rumbled softly from behind me. I only sighed and nodded.

"How long?" Farkas wondered sadly, kissing the top of my hood and squeezing me a little tighter to him.

"I don't know." I told him truthfully.

"Do you want me to come with?" the question left me torn. Yes I wanted him with me but where I was going I wasn't sure I could risk it. The Dawnguard wasn't exactly known for their acceptance towards anything not human and I was fairly certain even I could be at risk if I was found out. I felt Farkas stir behind me and complied as he turned me in his embrace to look at me. I let my green eyes meet his when he tilted my head and I sighed at the question I found in those compassionate silver eyes.

"No. I can't risk the Dawnguard finding out about the Companions." I stated firmly after gathering my resolve and I saw his features twist with sadness again.

I already hated the next couple of weeks.

"The Dawnguard..." Farkas echoed with a sigh as he understood the implications of what was drawing me elsewhere.

"Be careful. Vamps are nasty buggers." Farkas demanded and as I nodded he pulled my mask down to meet his lips to mine. The kiss was soft and gentle, laced with all our unspoken promises and when I pulled away I left a piece of myself behind.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Des get's back from her adventures in the Heartfire-expansion. How will her return be recieved after all that time?
> 
> Enjoy!

I couldn't go back to Jorrvaskr... They would smell my corruption, and I would bet my entire fortune that they would attack first and ask questions later. I couldn't risk having to hurt them before getting a chance to explain. My only chance now was the faint hope that Lydia would be able to come to terms with my predicament and not be a too hard a judge. It was, after all, not something I had willingly chosen. It had been a decision born out of need in the face of utter disaster.

“You’re a... a vampire?” My housecarl said in a slightly disbelieving huff, looking pale and understandably nervous while rubbing her forehead.

“Yes.” was the only answer I could muster as I sat ramrod straight and unnaturally still in front of her in the cozy kitchen of Breezehome. The fire felt extraordinary warm to my now constantly chilled skin and I relished in the feel of it. I was finally cold-resistant but it came with a terrible prize and with all facts on hand, I would rather be my old cold-susceptible self again. My unnerving yellowish gaze flickered from the fire over to the woman sitting across from me, appraising her reaction.

“How does that even… work…?” Lydia met my gaze with her wary one. She looked ready to leap into action should I decide to try anything and I silently cursed my fool brethren for their inability for self-control and empathy. Their way of looking down on anything not Vampiric, treating humans like cattle was the major reason the war had broken out in the first place. Too many vampires was stuck in their archaic believes of superiority, just like the Thalmor. And from that ignorance. That unwillingness to adapt and change sprung fear and hate.

It _was_ possible to coexist. I knew it, Serana knew it and even Serana’s stuck-up mother, Valerica, knew it. It all came down to how you fed and how you treated people around you. Live and let live. Much like being a werewolf really.

 “You mean the feeding?” Lydia nodded slowly at this and her features became stained in disgust at the thought. I sighed heavily, averting my gaze to once again get lost in the dancing flames of the crackling fire pit.

“Bandits, necromancers and the occasional willing donor mostly.” I stated glumly, hearing the scoff at the end of the sentence.

“Willing? Why would anyone willingly become a meal for a… a… monster?!” Lydia exclaimed in disgusted anger and I felt my heart drop into the pit of my stomach as I closed my eyes.

That outburst hurt, but, I needed to be tactical about this. If even Isran could see reason despite his strong convictions, Lydia should also be able to. She just needed to work through the initial shock. At least that's what I told myself to keep from bolting out the door from fear of having to hurt my friend. Because to me, she was still an invaluable friend, just like Marcurio who hadn't even flinched about my predicament. I would have asked him for help had I the heart to rip him away from his family. Instead I had gifted him and Aegis the house in Falkreath, as a late wedding present and asked them to take over the care of Lucia and Sophie.

My mind returned to the present and I looked over at my stubborn housecarl.

“Would you not help a dying friend?  Would you not give food from your plate to a starving man? How is donating some blood for the same reason any different?” I reasoned as calmly as I was able. Irritation and bitterness still seeping into my voice at the end.

Lydia snorted as she rose from her chair to start pacing. She was agitated and I could smell the anger as well as the hint of fear coming off her. But she stayed quiet, contemplating. It was a start.

I warmed my hands over the flames again, careful not to get close enough to get burned since I was now weak against those mesmerizing lights.

“You’re right.” I was startled by the sudden rush of words out of my housecarl’s mouth. She was still agitated and nervous, but she was looking at me with less distain now when my strange yellow gaze once again found hers.

“If what you’ve told me is the truth, and I don’t know you to lie, you couldn't help this anymore than becoming the Dragonborn. I should not fault you for trying to live on.” She said in her curt way and I almost wanted to jump for joy. Instead I smiled at her, thanking the Gods for gifting me with the best friends Skyrim had to offer.

“But I catch you trying to bite me and I’ll lop your head off quicker than you can hiss. Got it?” I couldn’t stop myself from chuckling at that.

“I have specially made potions to get me by if I can’t find a willing or acceptable target.” My words seemed to calm the worst nervousness from the housecarl as she broke out into a disgusted snicker telling me to keep the details to myself.

We discussed my missions with the Dawnguard for the rest of the night. Lydia wanted to know everything just like always. _'If I am to be stuck in this town until the end of my days, the least you can do is bring me stories of adventure.'_ she often said and so I told her about the prophecy of the tyranny of the sun that lead me on a chase to find two elder scrolls and then learning how to read them. We delved into the happenings with the snow elves, the bow of Auri-El and lastly the defeat of the Volkihar clan. The vampire clan that wanted to lay all the lands in Tamriel under their feet by using the bow of Auri-El to block out the sun.

We talked until I started feeling fatigued and Lydia asked if I should not be sleeping since it was long past morning.

I went up to the master bedroom and more or less fell into bed after asking Lydia for help in the matter of Farkas. I yawningly explained to her that they would attack me on sight, before even confirming who I was, if I dared go up to Jorrvaskr in my current condition. She agreed and promised to bring Farkas over by nightfall, provided he was in Whiterun and not off on a mission.

\--

Feeling like I was awaiting my doom, I took a seat by the fire in the kitchen again. I had been up for what felt like forever, unable to rest well in my nervous state. Chugging the last of my potion - to keep myself looking as close to normal as I possibly could - I settled in the chair closest to the fire, to listen for the approach of my mate and I almost crawled out of my skin when I finally heard the first signs of his approach.

“God’s woman, just tell me what’s wrong!” I heard Farkas exclaim as he approached the house and I involuntarily started curling in on myself.

“You’ll see. Only promise me to walk away if it’s too much. Don’t linger, just walk away Farkas. You hear me?! I don’t want to have to hunt you down like the dog you are and put you out of your misery…” I was surprised to hear Lydia sounding protective but my thoughts soon left me when someone grabbed the door.

“You coming?” I heard Farkas impatiently rumble.

“No, this is between you and her. I’ll be at the Bannered Mare for the night.” Lydia answered and by the way her voice got progressively weaker, I gathered she was already making her way there as she spoke.

The door started creaking as it slid inwards and I stopped breathing where I sat, hugging my knees tightly to my chest as I stared almost panic-stricken into the fire.

Not a words was uttered when his eyes landed on my pale skin and I could sense him tense up as my scent reached his nose. I glanced at the huge Nord from the corner of my yellow eyes and saw his silver gaze narrow in suspicion as he sniffed the air. Every sense I possessed was telling me to run, to flee before things turned ugly. But I stubbornly held my ground as I turned my gaze back into the flames.

“I… I failed you… us…” I whispered, my voice barely holding together from the emotions fighting to escape my iron-grasp and my heart almost broke into a million pieces when I heard Farkas let out a gasp ending in a keening _‘no’_.

“I’m sorry…” I croaked, my voice barely audible over the soft crackling of the fire.

I turned my unwilling gaze to my mate, horrified at the dread and sorrow I found in those silver eyes. I could see the straining muscles of his clenching jaw, the widened nostrils and shallow breathing but other than that and his eyes his features could just as well have been chiseled in stone. The bitterness that streaked his ruggedly handsome face had me wince inwardly.

How did I even begin to explain how I had sacrificed our bond to keep my strength at a maximum while battling evils in the realm of the Soul Cairn? How I had knowingly let myself be turned into a monster, even if it had been for the good of the entirety of Tamriel. I had still betrayed him, us, our bond. And how could I go about asking his forgiveness for something I could scarcely forgive myself for?

I might have saved Skyrim on numerous occasions, but I was hardly worthy of the praise hero. Not when I destroyed everything dear to me in the process. I was a selfish menace, a weapon. Useful for nothing but war and destruction.

I closed my eyes, waiting for whatever reaction the Gods saw fit to grace me with and it felt like an eternity past before I noticed the sound of shuffling feet. Then the distinct whining, creak of the door as it shut.

Then there was only silence.

\--

"You knew?! You knew and you didn't warn me?! I damned near killed her by sheer reflex!!" Farkas was furious as he stormed into Lydia's room at the Bannered Mare after grabbing her by the collar of her armor and dragging her there.

"I couldn’t risk you refusing to see her!" Lydia defended angrily, correcting her armor before crossing her arms over her chest.

"Why would I…? Never mind that… I need your help." Farkas said, his voice going from agitated to confused, to tired as he sunk down on the bed of the rented room.

"With what?" The housecarl said without blinking.

"I know I've heard about a mage looking for a cure for vamps. I need your help to find him. At least I think it was a him. Elf, somewhere in the north if I remember it correctly." Lydia was looking at Farkas with concentrated eagerness. Even if it was only hearsay so far, even if this person hadn't found an actual cure yet, it was still hope.

"I'll ask around, let you know what I find as soon as I find it." She promised him while patting him on the shoulder. Farkas smiled weakly up at her.

"You should get back, I'll stay at the Bannered Mare until we get this cleared up." Lydia said and cocked an eyebrow when the Nord didn't move.

"I suspect she can't stay at Jorrvaskr, but, you're welcome to my spot in Breezehome until…"

"We… uhm… didn't talk much… at all really…" Farkas interrupted with a heavy sigh, rubbing his face with his huge calloused hands.

"What?"

"I… I couldn't… I had to leave before my wolf took over…" Farkas looked absolutely miserable but Lydia hardly registered it.

"You left? You left her alone without so much as a word?!" the slap echoed through the room before Lydia even knew what happened. It stung her hand from the force but Farkas didn't even move or flinch.

"Get your damned dog under control and pray to whatever God you favor that she forgives you!" And with those words the housecarl turned on her heel, sprinting back to Breezehome.

Lydia fought that sinking feeling in her gut telling her what her brain didn't want to hear. She had known Des more or less since the day the elf set foot in Whiterun almost two years ago and she knew her well. Her instinct told her Des had left but she fought that feeing tooth and nail until the empty, darkened house of Breezehome welcomed her and Farkas, who wasn’t far behind, with the harsh truth.

"She ran..." Lydia whispered into the darkness as Farkas sunk defeated into the same chair she had sat in when receiving the news of her friend’s condition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, in my world Lydia knows about the werewolf's, both the Circle and Des.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farkas finds his love again, only to loose her again? Is Des past the point of no return?
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

It had taken Farkas and Lydia weeks to track Des down. She had never revealed the location of the Castle so the only thing they had to go on was the name Volkihar.

When asking around didn't yield any results, they took their chances with the Dawnguard instead. Isran - the leader- hadn't wanted to help. He just told the two friends that the Castle's location was to remain a secret as a favor for the help of the Serana, daughter of the recently deceased sadistic vampire lord Harkkon, whom sought to destroy the world.

It had taken a long time and a lot of favors to get the stubborn oaf to trust them enough to give up the location. And before they left he told them he doubted they would be allowed inside even if they did make it there. He looked bitter as he said this and Farkas couldn't help inquiring about it.

"You didn't see the state the Dragonborn was in. I'm surprised she was still standing. A waste is what it is!" the old man exclaimed angrily before clamming up and refusing to speak another word about it no matter how much Farkas or Lydia begged.

Now they were standing in front of Des, in her room at Castle Volkihar and neither of them could find their words. None of Serana's well-meant warnings could have prepared them for this.

There was almost nothing elfish left in Des' features and she seemed almost devoid of life where she sat to the side of the large fireplace at the far end of the room. The large stone-room was sparsely decorated and nothing looked like it had been touched aside from the wooden chair the elf was sitting in.

Des wore a vacant expression, sitting unnaturally still with her gaze lost in the dancing flames. Her skin was deadly pale, almost translucent and covered in blackened veins that spidered their way around her limbs in a sickening way. Her formerly copper-red lips was now more blackened blue and cracked. Her previously green eyes now wore a sickening color of red rimmed pale yellow and her entire eye socket was blackened like she hadn't slept for months on end.

There was no recognition coming from the elf, no reaction at all. It was as if they were not even there and Farkas couldn't help the soft whine that escaped his broken heart.

Lydia turned to Serana.

"Is there nothing to be done? Can we not help her?" she asked sternly and the old vampire sighed.

"It _could_ be a simple thing to help her..." Serana started and held up her hand in a warning when she saw the light of hope ignite in the eyes of the Dragonborn's friends.

"... _if_ we could get near her..." she hastily added eyeing the two friends with a warning gaze.

"What do you mean?" Lydia was irritated, bordering on impatient.

"Allow me to demonstrate." Serana said snarkily, ushering the two friends out of harm’s way before making her way carefully towards Des.

After a couple of steps the elf started hissing, awareness creeping into those otherworldly eyes. Serana stopped and tried to talk to Des, telling her she wasn't there to try anything. That she just wanted to check on the elf. But Des didn't relent. Two more steps was all that Serana was able to take before Des spun out of her chair at the speed of light, crouching low on the floor with narrowed eyes zooming in on Serana who once again stopped to try and reason with the elf. She had no success and looked over at the two friends standing on the opposite side of the room watching.

"See?" Serana said with a sigh and gesticulated towards the agitated elf.

" _FUS RO DAH."_ the shout echoed through the room the second Serana swiped her hand towards Des and the vampire was sent flying into the wall with a crunching grunt, landing just next to Lydia and Farkas. There was a few moments of frantic scrambling to get Serana back on her feet, checking for injuries before they could focus on Des again. She was still crouching and suspiciously eyeing them all through narrowed eyes while barring her teeth.

"Why?" Farkas wondered looking from Des to the ruffled Serana.

"No one knows... She hasn't spoken since before she came to the Dawnguard stronghold looking for Isran. Wiped out a whole platoon of soldiers before Isran could get his men under control." Serana answered looking irritated over at Des which earned her another outdrawn hiss.

"She's been fasting for too long. She should have fallen into a deep sleep by now but she's either to stubborn or the fact that she's Dragonborn gives her extraordinary abilities transcending those of normal vampires, just like it did with her werewolf-abilities." Serana continued while dusting herself off.

"You want to try your luck? Be my guest. Just don't expect me to patch you up when she shouts you to Oblivion." and with those words the surly vampire exited the room, leaving the two friends alone in their sorrow.

Lydia looked over at Farkas. He seemed lost in his own thoughts and misery and she couldn't help but feel her heart bleed for him. She knew how much he had hurt when Des disappeared after the mission to Ysgramor's tomb, how he had struggled with forgiving his brother and get on with his life. She knew how he had agonized over the fact that he hadn't been fast enough to catch Des at the High Hrothgar and how he had struggled with his own idiotic behavior during the reunion with the elf at Breezehome. The Gods could be both fickle and cruel and Lydia couldn't help but wonder what Farkas had ever done to deserve this kind of punishment.

She put a hand on his shoulders, patting it in silent support when he didn't acknowledge her. Turning she took a hesitant step towards her vampiric friend only to be stopped cold at the bloodcurdling sound of a warning hiss. She sighed at that and immediately gave up on the idea of trying to reach out to Des. She had no otherworldly powers and nothing except her armor to help her withstand a possible collision with a wall. She was just human.

"I'm going to rest and try talking to that snarky vampire again. Maybe her mother knows something that can help. I heard she's an alchemist." Farkas finally looked at her but only nodded in response. His silver eyes filled with enough pain to make even the hardened Lydia want to cry. She offered him a soft sad smile before trudging of, leaving him alone with the remnants of his love.

\--

Farkas stayed where he was, sitting cross-legged at the chilly stone floor and only staring at the elf that used to be his beloved. He shook himself mentally. She still was, he reminded himself. He hadn't given up before and he wouldn't give up now. There had to be a way to reach her.

He watched Des starting to zone out, donning that vacant expression she had worn when they all first came into the room and he watched as she started to relax and how she all but had to crawl back to the chair. His heart cracked even more at the pitiful sight. He couldn't even imagine where she got the strength to be the lethal predator he had witnessed her become when Serana approached. But then again she had always defied the norm, even as a werewolf. Memories of their brief times together started playing before his eyes and he let himself get lost in time for a while.

His mind traveled to the night he had finally claimed her as his mate. The happiness he felt at finally having her in his arms even as he helped her through a small panic attack about the whole mating thing. The conversation replayed in his mind and he smiled briefly at the memories of her huge, previously green eyes widening in surprise as he called her _"Parwen"_ for the first time. If only he could have frozen time there for a while. It was the happiest he'd ever been but fate wasn't kind and had ripped it from him even before he could blink.

Farkas sighed while looking over to the elf whose features he no longer recognized, he took a deep breath but found nothing of the scent that used to tickle his nostrils until he went mad with desire. There was nothing left but the husk of menacing instincts that sat in the chair before him. An animated corpse, clinging to life by some otherworldly will and the Nord felt his heart break even more.

"Des... please..." he pleaded, curling in on himself in his misery. He didn't want to be left alone again, he didn't want to learn how to live without her again and he didn't want to hurt anymore.

\--

"Wait! Stop! Serana, leave him alone! It's not his fault!" Lydia was getting desperate. Farkas had suffered enough but the furious vampire refused to see reason. The housecarl didn’t understand why the vampire reacted this harshly but the moment Lydia had revealed what the possible reason for Des' unwillingness to live was, she regretted it. Serana had blown up into a frenzy of furious snarls and started making her way towards Des' room again. Not even her mother could stop her and Lydia was now running after her, pleading as she went. Desperate to try and calm the woman enough to stop her from possibly murdering Farkas.

The door to Des' room flew up hard enough to partly splinter it and Farkas jumped up from his position, snarling in his start.

"This is _your_ fault!!" Serana wailed, throwing a fireball in Farkas direction before Lydia and Valerica could restrain her. Thankfully he dodged the inferno but the look he wore told Lydia that he wished he hadn't. Des' didn't move a muscle, they weren't close enough for her to care obviously.

"If it wasn't for you, she'd be safe and sound with me right now!" Serana continued with a violent sneer and suddenly Lydia grasped the situation perfectly. No wonder Serana had been grumpy and short since they got here. She was in love with the elf!

In her shock Lydia lost the grip she had on Serana's arm and the furious vampire swung free, pouncing Farkas in a mere moment. Everything after that, happened in a blur.

Serana slammed into Farkas with the full force of her rage. Her fist connecting hard enough to his gut for it to lift him clean off the ground. His large frame crumpling to the floor as he came down again but Serana was over him even before his knees hit the ground. Her nails dug into his upper arms as she lifted him like he was made of feathers, shoving him into the wall opposite the door. Her fangs was only a hairsbreadth away from the incapacitated man’s neck when she was slammed brutally into the ground by a flurry of snarling white limbs.

"Serana, stop! She _will_ kill you!" Valerica shouted but the vampire was too far gone down the path of her rage. She pounced at Farkas again but was met by a brutal wall of equal fury. A fist connected to the vampires face, sending her sprawling across the floor. Serana had no time to recollect herself and could only watch in horror as the seething embodiment of vengeance that was her friend, hoisted her up by the collar. Two impossibly strong arms came around her own in a harsh embrace, locking her movements and almost crushing her in the process. Then the jaws of her starved vampiric sister closed with bone crushing force around the crook of her neck and made her cry out in mind-numbing pain.

"Des' stop! She's your friend!!! _STOP!_ " Lydia was screaming at the top of her lungs, trying to make her way over to her insane friend who was causing Serana so much pain she was wailing. Valerica stopped her.

"It's no use. Serana brought this on herself... Foolish girl..." The look on Valerica's face was that of bitter resignation.

"But..." Valerica just shook her head and Lydia turned her horrified gaze back to the gruesome scene unfolding in front of her. If Lydia knew fear of vampires before, this made her even more keenly aware of why vampires were called the scourge of Tamriel. She couldn't believe this monster digging it's fangs into the flesh of Serana, hard enough to crack the bones in her shoulder, was her beloved friend and Thane.

“Des…” the words were mere whispers of horror as they slipped part the housecarls lips.

\--

Farkas stirred, finally catching his breath after that paralyzing punch to his gut. He looked at the woman he once called love and made up his mind. The time for hesitation was over. He wouldn't let this new kind of inner beast win and turn his love into a mad, raving monster. He stumbled his way towards the elf, hearing her hissing but ignoring it. Instead he focused on the memories of her happy in his arms, on their bond and the way she had always allowed him to close.

She would still allow him close he decided. He was staking his life on it. He just needed to stop hesitating and trust their bond. The bond was there before they were mated, even before Des became a werewolf and it was still there now.

She came to his rescue when he had given up and resigned himself to death. In that moment when she ripped the other vampire away from him, he had sensed that unique something that made her _her_. And he had even smelled the faint trace of their bond before she ripped into Serana with a vengeance.

Now he just had to reach her before it was too late.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Des' fragmented point of view. Picking up a little while after Breezehome and going up to about the same time as the last chapter.
> 
> Enjoy!

I was blacking out more and more often now. Thankfully I never seemed to leave the house in Riften but two weeks had gone since my last drop of the only liquid that could sustain me and I couldn’t trust myself any longer. Not only was it a hassle that people ran or turned aggressive at the mere sight of me, but the worst part was my instinct to hunt. It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, especially when people turned in fear and fled, and I was scared that I would one day in the very near future, find myself standing over a corpse.

I couldn’t let that happen. I needed help. And I knew just where to find it.

\--

The smell of blood from the mangled foes strewn about me was burning my throat and my nose. It felt like it was eating me from the inside out as the blood sang a taunting song that left me screaming in pain and frustration.

Why were these people attacking me? And why was I defending myself? I didn't want to hurt them. I wanted to be released. Why was I still fighting?

There was so much blood, the smell, the color, the pain it brought. It was all driving me slowly further into my insanity.

“Isran…” was all I managed to croak out before falling to my knees in the pool of gore that used to be my comrades in arms.

\--

Isran wouldn't help me. He only locked me in a cage with a potion and an ultimatum.

"Drink, or rot in there."

Why wouldn't he help me? He promised he would and he of all people should have little problem with my request.

I only wanted to die…

The potion was hurting my head, crumbling my resolve and I hated it. I threw it out of my cage in a fit of despairing rage and watched it shatter on the wall far away on the opposite side of where I was. My bitter satisfaction was short-lived as the smell of fresh blood sparked that excruciating fire inside me again, it fogged up my mind and left me with nothing but darkness, pain and loneliness.

I think I was screaming after that.

\--

Serana…

She was the reason Isran wouldn't grant me my wish. I had overheard them as they argued before she rushed in to fuss over me. She tried to comfort me and she fought against Isran’s wish to honor my pleas.

Every day she would come to clean the mess of a shattered potion and every day she left me a new one.

My own personal hell.

\--

I was being moved. I didn’t know to where or why and I couldn’t find the will to care. That woman was with me. The bane of my existence. Thankfully she didn't offer me any more potions but she was talking a lot. Or at least I think she was. It could have been my own mind.  It was so hard to focus.

\--

I was back in the one place I had wished never to see again. Castle Volkihar. I refused to use the bed, to even so much as touch the goblets and trinkets found in the room and every bottle I saw I smashed into a million pieces before I settled into the armchair by the fireplace to watch the flames dance.

Serana was with me often, always irking me with her coaxing to live, feed and move on. I think I ended up shouting her across the room a couple of times.

I didn't want food nor comfort. If I wasn't going to be allowed death then I at least wanted to be alone until the deep sleep claimed me.

\--

Darkness and pain. It was all I could feel, it was everywhere I looked, everywhere I turned and it was never ending. My entire body was on as much fire as the logs in the fireplace but the flames wouldn’t consume me. They never allowed me release or respite and the comfortable darkness I was waiting for, was always lingering just outside my reach but still close enough to suffocate my every breath.

All I wanted was for this to end. But the deep sleep never came.

\--

The woman I couldn’t remember the name of was closing in on me. She hadn’t done that since I shouted fire at her, but now she brought humans and was daring to approach me again.

She stopped at my warning and I think she was talking but I didn’t care. Why did that incessant woman continue to dog my existence?

I hated her.

What was that she had said so many moons ago? I could scarcely remember. Focusing was almost impossible now. It was something about love and wanting someone to live. Did she mean me?

The woman started her approach again and I whirled on her.

No I wouldn't let her. I would find the will to fight through the pain, through the darkness and I would thwart her attempts of prolonging the inevitable. If she wouldn't honor my wish for death I would let time wither me to nothing. I would prevail.

I know I shouted her across the room this time.

\--

One human remained when all else was quiet again. That baleful woman was baiting me and I would have none of it. As long as the human stayed safely on the other side of the room I could ignore it. I bit down hard on my instinct to feed and gradually got used to the increase in pain.

That smell though. I couldn’t focus and the memories eluded me but I knew I had smelled that human before.

I dragged my ass mechanically over to the chair by the fire again. The constant dancing of the flames was all that kept me anchored to this world. The fire kept me from losing my mind completely.

"Des… please…" the voice was pained and broken, but it pierced effortlessly through my fogged mind to linger in the forefront on my thoughts.

I know I had heard that voice before.

\--

I don't know why I got so angry but the smell of the human had instilled long since dormant feelings of possessiveness. I didn’t understand and I didn't care. Stopping that vile being attacking what I instinctively knew was mine was now my only concern and I acted on pure instinct as I ripped her off of the human, smashing her into the floor with every ounce of strength I possessed.

The thing tried to get past me and take my human again. The rage I felt was invigorating and when the punch landed in that repulsive beings face I felt a morbid glee at the crunching sound. I pounced, dragging the sagging heap of meat up to my face before crushing it in my arms. I felt my nails pass through skin, felt the intense heat burn my entire being at the smell of its blood and I felt my instincts slowly overriding my senses.

I felt my teeth pierce the porcelain skin in front of my nose, I heard the crunching as my jaws locked around my prey and I think I heard screams, but the taste of life and the euphoric bliss that followed drowned out everything else.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did Serana make it out alive? Did Des? Or any of them?
> 
> Enjoy!

I felt like I was simultaneously floating on air while drowning in the enrapturing bliss of the liquid trickling down my throat and I was lost in that deep-red haze of bittersweet release for what felt like an eternity before a sound dragged my dozing soul back from the abyss of my sickening euphoria.

"Parwen…"

The word was familiar even if the pronunciation was a bit off, and the sound of the voice was more than familiar. It felt safe, like home and it awoke things in the depth of my dried up heart that I thought had died.

I stopped hissing, stopped feeding all together, completely enthralled by that deep rumbling voice accompanied by that scent that left me both antsy and calm. I wanted more, craved it like a man starving, but the red haze of my body's inbuilt survival-instinct was trying to occupy my mind again. I had to fight tooth and nail to keep it from dragging me back under.

Two warm arms came around me, caressing their way along my own and leaving scorching trails in their wake. The heat from the human’s body was scalding against my cold skin but I couldn’t get enough. The closeness of the human calmed me, his scent even more so and the feel of his skin on mine sent pleasant shivers down my spine.

That familiar husky voice was telling me to stop, to think and even in my bloodlust I instinctively complied, loosening my jaws from where they were lodged in my prey. 

"Don't let the beast win." It said soothingly and I felt my skin prickled as the breath of the human caressed the skin of my neck. I fought to shake the feeding frenzy from my mind, blinking in confusion as I looked around. What beast was the human talking about? There was no beast here…

As my head started to clear up, I realized that the thing I was crushing it my arms was whimpering. That hateful being was still alive and my blood froze in my newly warmed veins as I snapped my head to inspect it.

_‘Serana…?’_ the name flickered through my hazed mind.

Wait what?

My mind struggled to catch up while I witnessed the damage done to my friends shoulder. I saw the pain written clearly in her unusually pale face and it dawned on me;

_I_ was the beast…

_I_ was holding my friend in bone-crushing grip, _I_ was the one who destroyed her shoulder and _I_ was the one causing her pain enough to make those pitiful sounds. I was pretty much on the verge of killing her and at that realization I dropped Serana as if she had suddenly burst into flame. I could only stare in horror as two familiar women rushed forward to help her.

I forgot the human behind me as I started shaking. The shaking intensified and turned to convulsions. Soon after that I doubled over and retched. Deep red, almost black liquid pooled around me where I stood folded in on myself and the overwhelming scent of blood filling the room mercilessly burned my senses. My insides churned and felt like they were twisting themselves into hard knots as the scent of sickeningly delicious release ate away on my recently regained sanity.

"Kill me…" I whimpered in between heaves and ragged wet breaths.

"Please… kill me…"

"No!" Came the quick, desperate answer.

"No… It's ok. Everything's going to be ok." The familiar deep, rumbling voice was all but cooing as those two strong, scorching arms held me through the spasms wracking my entire body.

"Kill me… Please… I'm a monster…" I heard myself begging as I worked to calm my now dry heaves.

"No!… No don't say that... Des no! Don't you dare leave me again!" The mesmerizing male voice was somewhere between angry and pleading and something in it had me forcing myself to turn to look at the human.

Strong bulky arms, broad chest, wolf armor, followed by a muscular neck, shoulder-length black hair and silver eyes framed by black warpaint.

Those eyes…

"Farkas…?" my voice sounded horrible, cracked, dry and hoarse like I had been dead for years. But his words had me confused enough to hardly notice. Did he just tell me not to leave him? But he was the one that left. Wasn't he?

I couldn’t focus, the nausea was still lingering, threatening to make me heave again while my head swam with so many questions. The bloodlust was still burning my insides like a raging wildfire and I had to battle with myself to stay in control. Farkas blood beckoned my thirst, his heart taunting me with its thumping song and I fought even harder to stay in control. It was utterly exhausting and I could feel what little strength I had left waning as my consciousness retreated and my vision grew dark.

"Yes Parwen, it's me... I'm sorry… Please don't leave… Don't… Please don't make me…" Farkas couldn't finish the sentence but he didn’t have to. I could guess the ending and I knew he would kill me if he really had to even if he now was pleading with me so he wouldn't have to.

I really wanted to answer him. I tried to and I was going to but the world kept spinning. Faster and faster as I felt my strength crumble and my vision go black.

_'No! Not now! Gods… not… now…'_

\--

 

Farkas winced and bit down around a cry of intense pain as the elf sunk her teeth deep into the crook of his neck, just above his armor. He knew it would hurt when he realized Des was losing the fight against her instincts but he never believed it would burn this much. The tiny elf had enormous amount of force behind those fragile-looking jaws of hers.

“Farkas!!” Lydia cried out in alarm but Farkas stopped her.

“It’s ok. Just go. Take Serana and go!” he ground out.

“But… Farkas… She’ll…” Lydia’s voice trailed off when Farkas gave her a stern look and Valerica gently tugged on her.

While Farkas had Des occupied Lydia, together with a grumbling but seemingly relieved Valerica got Serana out of harm’s way. They got Serana into a nearby room and onto a bench. Valerica took some time to inspect her daughter and when she stepped away and turned to Lydia her face was once again a display of bitter resignation.

"I need to fetch our donor. Potions won’t help since the blood isn't fresh. Watch over my daughter until I get back." Lydia only nodded slowly, still in somewhat shock from recent events. She had no idea how she would be able to hold Des off if she got lose but she had little choice but to try and she prayed to the Gods that Farkas was safe.

"She won't harm him." The old vampire said as if she had read the housecarls mind while she made her way towards the door.

"How do you know…" Lydia’s voice was weak and trembling and she hated how it betrayed her feelings. She hated feeling scared and powerless.

"Their bond is strong. Even I, as an outsider could smell it when she attacked Serana. She will not hurt him." Valerica concluded, meeting Lydia's troubled gaze. Then she turned and went on her way.

"Wait!" Lydia called out just as the vampire closed the door. The door swung back open by an inch, revealing Valerica's features as she looked over her shoulders towards the housecarl.

"How long will you be gone?" There was more Lydia wanted to ask but she refrained from it.

"A day, if I'm lucky…" the old vampire's words was tainted with a pain that didn't reflect in her features and without another word she was gone. Lydia stood rooted to the spot for a long time, mulling over the events of the last day. When she managed to get herself back together she walked carefully over to Serana.

The vampire was in bad shape and Lydia felt her heart sink the more time past as she was forced to watch the woman fight an outdrawn, losing battle for her life.

_‘Would you not help a dying friend?  Would you not give food from your plate to a starving man? How is donating some blood for the same reason any different?’_ Des words from what seemed like ages ago bounced around Lydia’s brain as she watched the vampire struggle.

_'Donate blood…'_ the thought was insistent. Terrifying as it was it still wouldn't leave her alone. She must have gone mad but as the night progresses without a single sign of Valerica, Lydia cracked.

Serana’s wet rasps that constituted for breaths was clawing on the housecarls conscience. The ever paling skin of the vampire had her nerves crawl on the outside of her skin and those hushed whimpers grated on Lydia’s heart.

"Serana!" Lydia called as she stalked up with determination towards the dying vampire. Those orange eyes of hers rolled in her skull as she tried to focus the housecarl with her gaze.

"Can you hear me?" Lydia spoke softer as came up by Serana's side, taking hold of the vampire’s cold hand to give her something to focus on. Serana's lips moved but no sound came. The vampire tried to nod instead and winced audibly at the small movement.

"Your mother won’t make it in time. I'd like to… ehmm… I'd like to help…" Lydia's voice cracked and strained from her nervousness but she managed to get her point across. Serana didn't seem to agree though and shook her head as best she could.

"What?" Lydia was baffled almost beyond words. Vampires was supposed to vicious uncaring and even sadistic bastards, not caring for anything but their next meal but here she had a vampire who wouldn’t even take blood to save her own life. Lydia couldn’t fathom why Serana would decline and in her annoyance she tried to shove her wrist in Serana's face but the vampire turned away squeezing her jaws shut.

"Why?! Am I not good enough for you? Would you rather die you ungrateful wench?!" Lydia all but howled at the uncooperative woman needlessly dying in front of her very eyes. The vampire just shook her head weakly again.

"How am I supposed to face Des if you… If I _let_ you die here… she'd be devastated…" Lydia's anger gave way to sadness as she thought about the whole absurd situation. She sank down beside Serana on the bench and sighed.

"Just accept my help you infuriating woman, or so help me I'll kill you myself…" the threat sounded tired and even less than half-hearted but Lydia was at a loss for what to. And she would rather die than beg for a vampire to feed off of her. The mere thought had her scoff in disgust.

The tired housecarl looked down at the vampire beside her and decided to try one more time. From her position behind the vampires head she curled her arm around Serana’s neck to land her forearm in front of her nose, and this time Lydia’s offer took. She gasped out a wince when she felt Serana's fangs sink into the soft skin of her lower arm and she tried to ignore that nauseating feeling that came with the knowledge of what she was doing.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valerica makes it back, Lydia get's the surprise of a lifetime (only implied) and Farkas makes up with Des.
> 
>  
> 
> Enjoy!

The bandits of Northwatch Keep had been doing business with Valerica and Serana since the demise of Harkkon. Mostly selling their blood for money - blood Valerica converted into specialized potions for vampires - but sometimes the bandits had other wares that suited the needs of the now small coven. The old vampire had been lucky the band hadn’t been wiped out or moved on when she arrived, and now she had one of them in a tow, gawking as he was being guided through the ancient, huge castle.

It took longer than Valerica would have liked to get to and fro the mainland and she was afraid that it would be too late to save her daughter once she finally got back. Instead she felt relief spread through her system as she and her guest came up on the room she had left her daughter in.

“Looks like we won’t be needing your special services after all…” Valerica smirked at a gasp emanating from behind the door.

“We’ll just do the usual procedure. Follow me.” She continued and motioned for the curious bandit with eyes the size of dinner plates to follow.

\--

 

The pain was giving away to a most peculiar feeling and Farkas couldn’t stop from squirming. He thought he had gone mad and felt absolutely ridiculous. He tried to think of boring things and even things he hated, like frostback spiders, but nothing seemed to ease the feelings raging through him. The pain was almost fully gone in a matter of moments and he wondered if it was because Des had eased off or if it was due to the rising, inappropriate need he couldn’t fight off.

Despite his best effort, a muffled moan escaped his lips and he wanted nothing more than to pin Des under him, claiming her once more as his own. Not even his wolf was fighting anymore. On the contrary. It was as anxious for release as he was and to his surprise it seemed to have accepted the fact that their mate was now something different. The whole situation was absurd.

“Farkas…?” it was little more than a whisper and Des’ voice was still gravely and hoarse but never the less it sent shivers down Farkas’ spine. Focusing was hard and became even harder when the elf started nipping the sensitive skin of his neck, up towards his ear. But even in his hazy state he noticed that Des’ skin had regained some color. The blackened veins was retreating and her eyes wore a more vibrant color yellow.

He couldn’t find his voice enough to answer the elf but he hoped his uncivilized grunt would suffice. His head started spinning as he got lost in the way she was kissing nips along his jaw and he wished for nothing more than for the elf to connect her lips to his. To give him what he instinctively knew he probably shouldn’t want right now.

“I missed you…” Des’ whispered as she nipped his ear and she was sounding more like herself again. Farkas shuddered at the simple but honest confession and couldn’t help himself as he hugged the elf closer with a groan. His entire body was begging for attension and his trousers was becoming more than a little restrictive. He felt Des’ trail kisses along his jaw again and threw his sanity to the winds as he turned to take what he desperately wanted. What his entire being was screaming it needed.

The second his lips connected to the elf’s it felt like the world suddenly erupted into a blaze of light and heat. Everything else was instantly forgotten and even if he did have enough consciousness left to recognize the taste of blood, he didn’t care. He couldn’t care even if he had wanted to, the need raging around his body was too great.

The elf squirmed in his arms, responding almost desperately to his kiss and his blood ran even hotter when she sighed at his touch as he let his hands caress their way around her back. One hand coming to rest in the white dreaded hair of the elf’s neck and the other one finding purchase on her well-shaped behind. Des’ moaned heartily into the kiss, curling her arms around his neck and nestling her hands into his black unkempt hair to pull him closer.

Farkas was aware of the fact that the elf was pulling on him, guiding them somewhere but it wasn’t until they toppled into a bed that his brain really caught up with the implications.

He noticed his armor was gone, leaving him bare from the waist up and he groaned at the feel of those tiny but deceptively strong hands wandering his chest down to his stomach. A disgruntled whine escaped his throat at the loss of the elf’s warming lips against his own but his brain was soon occupied with the sensation of those same lips kissing their way down his abs. A harsh nip to the side of his hipbone had him audibly hiss and squirm but even though he recognized the scent of blood he still didn’t care. She could take as much blood as she wanted just as long as she didn’t stop touching him.

Des’ was kissing up the inside of Farkas’ thigh when he felt her nip harshly again, he hissed in response while shuddering in response to the elf’s almost purring moan. When she moved on he felt his breath lodge itself in his throat as her lips closed around his straining length. His mind scrambled to process all the different thoughts and sensations running rampant through his brain and body but the moment he felt himself sink into the warmth of his love’s mouth, his brain once again shut down.

There was nothing but her. Her warming touch exploring his body, her foreign smell invading his senses and her now again familiar voice egging him on with those exquisite sounds of passion.

All too soon the elf abandoned his length and Farkas whined a groan in frustration as she slowly kissed her way up along his stomach again. He wanted her in every way possible and his patience was wearing more than a little thin.

With a growl he yanked Des’ up to claim her lips again, one hand finding her petite mound with an already hard nipple and he relished in the moans erupting from the elf when he rolled that hard nub between his fingers. He let his hand trail further until he reached that soft patch of curls between her toned, slim thighs and he felt the tiny elf gasp as he trailed her folds. He swallowed her sounds of passion as he sunk two digits inside the hot core. Egging her on by curling his fingers as he worked them in and out simultaneously as he let his thumb ghost that electrifying spot at the apex of those perfect thighs.

Their kisses grew harsh, sporadic and wild while their breathing became erratic. Des’ was grinding down on his fingers and the friction it caused to Farkas already painfully aroused sex had his head spinning. He needed her and from the sounds of it, she needed him as much.

There was no question needing answering and no hesitation from either as he slid his fingers out of the elf to instead line himself up to her heated core. She slid down his shaft with ease and gasped as he met her with a careful thrust. His hands found purchase on her lean hips and he felt more than watched as she ground up and down his length. He couldn’t keep from thrusting and everytime they connected they both cried out in their building passion.

The pace grew urgent and chaotic as they both progressed towards their peaks but Farkas wasn't satisfied. He longed for those now again blushed copper-colored lips and the feel of her tiny body pressed against him. Wrenching himself upright he wrapped his arms around the small frame of the elf and claimed her lips in a bruising kiss that stole what little breath they had left.

He helped Des continue the pace, lifting and supporting her while thrusting as best he could in a sitting position. The elf let her hands trail every patch of skin she could reach and Farkas reciprocated by abandoning her lips in favor for her nipples. The feel of her lovers touch. Of him buried inside her, filling her to the brim and then some, had the fire in her veins burn with another fierce need. It was overshadowing the thirst, pooling in the pit of her stomach and making her whimper for more.

Those strong, warm arms holding her kept her grounded, secure, as she was slung over the edge of her high with a breathless cry and Farkas followed soon after. His muscles coiling as he stuttered her name, burying himself in her still constricting core and letting go. He relished in the way she chanted his name in breathy whispers, clinging to him as if her life depended upon it and together they slowly came down from their high.

Farkas didn't let her go even for a second, afraid she might disappear or recoil from him. He held her as tightly as he dared, strew kisses over her neck, up to her chin and then claimed her lips. The kiss was long, slow and sweet as he poured everything he felt into it while praying that she forgive him for his foolish behavior.

"I'm sorry…" Des mumbled into the kiss. Her voice was tiny, broken and pleading and it made Farkas heart clench as he held the elf even tighter. Even now she thought she was the one to blame. Loyal to a fault…

"Don't apologize when I'm the idiot…" he answered in a strained voice, hoarse from emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is thought to be the last chapter. I hope you enjoyed this story because I had very fun typing it up. Lots of love to all my followers!
> 
> Cheers! //
> 
>  
> 
> Fnorp


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